


In The Hands Of Time

by atsammy



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: F/F, NaNoWriMo 2010, Post-Season 2 AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-21
Updated: 2013-08-28
Packaged: 2017-12-24 06:14:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 59,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/936364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atsammy/pseuds/atsammy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were moments where you look back and wonder how you’d missed all the signs that pointed directly at that one instant where everything changed.  All the signs were there, all the turn-offs, the detours, bypassed because there was no way that you could possibly be wrong.  No way that the choices you made were anything but the right ones.  And then that moment comes, and you realize you had no idea just how blind you were.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to Michanna, Allaine, Rysler, and everyone else who has read through this monster of a story since I finished writing it in December of 2010. It's been a crazy ride, writing 55k of the 60k+ words in a month and then trying to edit it into something approaching an intelligible story. Your help has been amazing.
> 
> This story was written for NaNoWriMo 2010, right after season 2 of Warehouse 13 ended. The first parts follow canon season 1 and 2, more or less, with some elaboration, and goes AU completely after the events of season 2. I did change some small details about Myka and H.G.'s pasts, to fit the story, but not glaringly. 
> 
> It is complete, and will be posted in its entirety over the next two weeks.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it, and thank you for reading!

**April 2009**

Myka opened her eyes, annoyed but not surprised to see that only three minutes had passed since she last looked at the clock on the nightstand. The rustling of her new, unexpected ferret in its cage grated at her ears, and she rolled onto her back, pulling the extra pillow down over her face. She didn’t want to be here, in Nowhere, South Dakota. She wanted to be home, in her apartment in D.C., with all her books and her TV, not in the guest room of some small inn. And certainly not twenty feet away from Pete Lattimer. As wonderful as getting promoted to work at the White House was, the downside of the last three months had been working side by side with him. She considered it a daily miracle when she didn’t kill him for being so... annoying.

And here he was, in South Dakota. Him, a ferret, and a crazy man who desperately needed his eyebrows trimmed. From the White House to a warehouse, in twenty-four hours. She had no idea how she was going to break that news to her parents. 

She sat up, letting the pillow fall onto her lap. Nothing was going to let her sleep tonight. Her brain wouldn’t shut off, and nothing short of dosing herself on medication was going to solve that problem. She snorted softly, letting out a humorless laugh as she wondered if the warehouse had an artifact that induced sleep. It probably did. Aisle 3798D, or someplace like that. Maybe there was a whole row of them. Sleeping Beauty’s spindle, a painting of sheep jumping over a fence. The original barbiturate. A pillow that refused to let you get out of bed. She could live with that one, actually.

Why the hell was she here? Despite what Artie had said, and what did he know of it anyway, was this because of the... catastrophe that was Denver? Was this the punishment they had planned? Give her a few months working with the President while they finished their investigation, and just quietly shuffle her off to the middle of freaking nowhere with the guy who told their boss he saw a statue bleed? She ignored the fact that the statue apparently _did_ bleed, if crazy-man was to be believed, but still. When people told her she was going places, South Dakota was not what she had in mind.

If only her cell phone had reception out here. It was 2009, for God’s sake. She was certain the center of the Gobi Desert had better reception than this place did. Dickinson had better find a way to get her back home quickly, or she was going to lose her mind. Pete could stay, she decided. He fit right in in this loony bin. She was going home. It was only a three hour drive back to Rapid City; between that and the connecting flight in Chicago, she could be home by mid-afternoon tomorrow.

With that goal in mind, she laid back down, pulling the handmade quilt up to her shoulders. She closed her eyes, and this time, she didn’t open them again until her alarm went off, six hours later.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

**October**

Myka turned away from the fireplace, intending to head back upstairs. Instead, she found herself sitting on the edge of the couch, staring at the burning pages as if in a trance. She didn’t regret not reading the final report. Not too much, anyway. She hadn’t been fired, so it hadn’t damned her career, and other than the gossip that still followed her, there was no one who could say that she hadn’t done her job. 

The ashes were no longer visible when Pete wandered into the room and sat beside her. She could feel him looking at her, but she ignored him in favor of the flames dancing in front of her. When he propped his feet, clad only in socks, up on the table, she reached out and pushed at his ankle. “Barbarian,” she muttered. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to put your feet on the furniture?”

“She tried,” Pete replied gravely. “But Dad ruined it every weekend in the fall when the Bengals games were on. Then it was all, feet on the table, chips everywhere, Dad with his beer and me with my... cream soda.”

“And where was your sister?”

“Jeannie? Oh, she was the worst of us. She has this dance she would do every play. EVERY play. It involved a lot of jumping around. Mom finally had to move all the picture frames from the room because we, I mean she, knocked over all of them.”

“Not that you had anything to do with that.”

“Me? Of course not. I was a perfect angel in comparison, feet on the table and all.”

Myka shook her head and laughed, leaning back against the cushions beside him. “I find that hard to believe.” She sighed and looked up at the ceiling. “We didn’t watch football in my house. Dad wasn’t into sports, though he watched golf whenever Tom Watson was playing.”

“Hey, golf can be an exciting sport! I’m sure there was a lot of rambunctious golf clapping going on in the Bering house. Don’t even try to deny it.” He patted her on the head, and after she ducked away from that, wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

She laughed again, and leaned against his side. He really was that sometimes-unwanted-but-always-there-to-make-you-laugh brother she never had. Even back in D.C., though she would never admit it, he had found ways to make her laugh, inside, when she was frustrated, even if it was just by acting like an idiot. She would be hard pressed to admit it, but she actually kind of liked having him out here with her. 

Sometimes. He bought her Twizzlers to add to her stash, which also helped his cause. Her gaze returned to the fire, and she felt herself start to relax as she watched the flames dance.

“It wasn’t an affair, you know,” she said quietly after several long minutes of silence.

“Hmm?”

“I know you’ve heard the rumors, and that FBI agent in Chicago sure wanted to talk about it, but I never slept with Sam.”

“Ok.”

She expected him to say more, and when he didn’t, she glanced up at him. He was also watching the flames, and did not appear to her to be trying to hide any reaction. She settled back against him and tried to see any hint of paper in the fire.

“He was my partner. He saved my life once when we were undercover as a married couple forging fifties, and he called me ‘Bunny’ because I lived on salads during that assignment, and we were very close... but he never cheated on his wife. I never would have wanted him to. People thought we were, but he was my best friend.

“Ok.”

She pushed away from him and sat up, facing him. “That’s it? ‘Ok?’”

He dropped his arm and turned his head to look at her, the perfect image of a guy just taking a load off. “Myka, you don’t owe me any explanations.”

“But...”

“You’re my partner. And you’re my friend, though I know you don’t like admitting that fact.” She felt her face flush as he went on. “Trust me. I don’t care what other people gossip about. You’re my partner. I have your back, and you have mine. That is all that matters.”

He met her gaze squarely, a hint of a smile in his eyes. Finally, she sighed, and resumed her position on the couch. She had nothing to say to that.

“Does this mean I can call you ‘Candy’ now, given your obsession with Twizzlers?”

Nothing to say, but that didn’t stop her from punching him in the stomach.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

**February 2010**

Helena backed away quietly, watching the reunion between her erstwhile companions. Reaching under her coat, she pulled out her grappler and set it on the desk. She added the note she had written whilst in the laboratory creating her concoction, placing it gently on the grip of the grappler. Final task complete, she paused in the doorway and looked back in time to see Myka straighten from the hug she had been giving the young woman. A wistful smile crossed her lips, and Helena left.

Outside the factory, she merged with the end of the work day rush towards the city bus that waited outside the gate. She found a seat by a window and settled in, ignoring the man who sat rather too close beside her. There were far more important things for her to think about, like the woman she left behind. 

To say that the century she found herself in was unlike anything she had imagined it would be was putting it very mildly indeed. Her fellow writers of speculative fiction had, like her, envisioned an idyllic paradise in the future, without poverty, without conflict. The advances of technology aside, there was nothing about the world she had experienced for the last few months that particularly impressed her. It had taken her that long to force down her instinctive reaction to the utterly inappropriate, and downright _scandalous_ clothing that passed for fashion amongst women and men alike. The trousers she quite liked, having preferred them for her work in London, but the amount of skin she saw every day was revolting. It still horrified her to see those same outfits on children, and she could only imagine the manner in which Christina would react to wearing them. 

As she watched a woman walk down the sidewalk, something pressed against her ear, a stray thought caused her to nod slightly to herself. Perhaps there were a few things she approved of. Women of this new century seemed, for the most part, to have roles in society that did not solely revolve around the will of their families. Even amongst her contemporaries, Helena herself had been an aberration, what with her education and her career and her femininity. Charles had been perfectly content being the public face of H.G. Wells, and he had no care whatsoever over her other activities, but when it came to the concept of women’s suffrage, he had sided solely with tradition. It had been the cause of many arguments between them, and finally the topic was never brought up again.

It was clear that women now did not face the same restrictions that once held her back, and yet, as she and Myka had debated in the alley, some things never changed. On the other hand, Helena had never met a woman face to face over the barrel of a gun, especially not one so comfortable in the handling of one. Which led her to the subject of this mental wandering. Myka Bering. A woman unlike any she had ever come across. In their two encounters thus far, Helena came away each time fascinated. This woman was intelligent, strong, and very independent, and Helena was certain that they would have made fast friends in her previous life. 

There was, perhaps, a new purpose for her here. Beyond returning to the Warehouse, anyway. She never did back down from a challenge, and Myka Bering promised to be a great one.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Myka sat in Artie’s desk chair, absently rolling around the floor as she stared at the scrap of paper. _Keep it. You can owe me._ She could almost hear Helena say those words, with that smirk on her lips that always seemed to be there. Almost always. The pain in her eyes when she spoke of her daughter somehow made her human. More human, less of a legend. She traced the writing, absently wondering just where the woman was now.

Later, back in her room, she opened her copy of _When the Sleeper Wakes_ and slipped the note between the pages. It was one of the few first editions she owned, a gift from her father her freshman year in college. She’d had to read the revised version that semester, though now that she thought of it, who had revised it in 1910 if Helena had already been encased in bronze for seven years? She laughed softly to herself at the thought of returning to Yale and making that argument to her English professor. Maybe next time she saw Helena she should ask her, as long as Artie wasn’t bronzing her again.

She closed the book, and started to put it back on the shelf. Halfway there, she changed her mind, and tucked it inside the drawer of her nightstand. She made a mental note to ask her about the revisions the next time they met. She had a feeling that they would. After all, they couldn’t keep meeting at gun point, could they?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

**April**

Myka watched helplessly as Artie walked away from her. The anger and betrayal she’d seen on his face when Mr. Kosan explained that her report- granted, the one that she’d filed without Artie’s input- had helped secure Helena’s return to the Warehouse had gutted her. She’d honestly thought that... well... She had known he wasn’t going to like the idea, but it wasn’t her decision any more than it was his. The Regents made the decision, based on the facts, and there must have been something beyond her own report that made them decide to trust H.G. Wells again. All Myka had done was be honest about her interactions with the woman. 

She heard the door topside slam shut, and took a step back. And then another, and another, until she hit the door back into the office. Shoving her hands in her pockets, she went back inside.

“Everything alright?” Pete asked her, his tone indicating that he knew everything was anything but.

She shrugged a shoulder, and shook her head. Movement off to the side caught her attention, and she looked over to see Helena take a careful step towards her. Helena had a small smile on her face, a careful one, as though she wasn’t sure if Myka was going to snap at her if she moved any closer. Myka couldn’t help but smile back. No matter what Artie thought, having Helena at the Warehouse could only be a good thing, right? After all, she had experience, even if it was a hundred years old, and she was smart, and funny, and inventive. All things that were needed to survive life in the Warehouse. Without it, well... Artie was a perfect example of what happened if you lacked any one of those traits.

“It’s getting late,” she started, haltingly. “I can take you to Leena’s, so that you can get settled in there. She’ll be serving dinner soon, too. If you are hungry. Did you bring anything with you?”

Helena had been toying with a thin gold chain around her neck. Christina’s locket, Myka realized, as Helena let go of it and reached out to touch her arm. 

“I am a bit hungry, yes.”

“Ok, then,” she started, feeling her cheeks warm. She caught Pete looking at her, an odd look on his face, and turned away. She found her purse on a far table, behind one of Claudia’s inventions, grabbed it, and went back to the door to the umbilicus. Helena met her there a moment later, a black leather knapsack in one hand and her trench coat in the other.

A few minutes later, as she turned off the dirt road and back onto the highway heading towards Univille, she looked over at Helena. The other woman was resting her head against the window, seemingly looking at the landscape as they drove by. However, when Helena canted her head just a little when Myka looked at her, Myka realized that Helena had actually been watching Myka’s reflection in the glass. 

Her mouth went dry, and she swallowed harshly as she focused again on the road. The first buildings of the town had appeared on the horizon by the time she finally worked up the nerve to ask, “Is there anything you would like to pick up before we get there? Univille doesn’t have much in the way of shopping, but there’s a convenience store along the way. If you need anything more than that, tomorrow if there is time we could go out to Sioux Falls, they have a mall there. Or maybe this weekend, and make it a girl’s day with Claudia.”

“Myka,” Helena said, interrupting her rambling, for which she was grateful. “I do not need anything tonight, but thank you. Perhaps later this week, as you said.”

Myka nodded sharply. Perhaps she should just stop talking altogether, at least until she reached the bed and breakfast.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Leena met them in the hallway, a dish towel in her hand and a dash of flour on her neck. “The last room is made up, if you would show it to her, Myka? Dinner will be ready in ten minutes,” she said, after Myka made the introductions. The women had met before, of course, but circumstances being what they were, it was only polite to reintroduce Helena to the woman who had de-Bronzed her. It was her house she’d be living in, after all.

As they turned the corner of the staircase, Helena glanced back to see Leena calmly watching her. It was disconcerting, and she continued up the stairs to where Myka was waiting for her, a happy smile on her face. Myka led her to the first door on the right, opening it and stepping back to let her in. “There are four rooms up here, plus the bathroom. It’s not as good as having your own apartment, but it’s comfortable.”

Helena walked in and stopped, surprised by the spaciousness of the room. The bed was a decent size, and it had matching, early 20th century furniture and thick drapes on the windows. It reminded her of her sitting room in London, in a way. She had the strangest feeling that if she stood by the drapes and breathed in, she would smell the mustiness that had permeated her home in London. She carefully laid out her coat on the bed, taking the opportunity to wipe at her eyes as she straightened out her scarf. Her bag she set on the dresser, and she poked through the empty drawers.

“Do you like it?” The question startled her; for a moment she’d forgotten that Myka had come in with her. The other woman was standing in the doorway, her arms folded below her breasts, unconsciously drawing Helena’s gaze there for an instant. 

“It’s lovely,” she said, mostly honest. It was another reminder of all the things she’d lost, but it would do. There were lovelier things in the room to distract her, at least for the moment.

“I can show you the rest of the house, if you like.”

“Perhaps just the washroom, for now?” She would love a bath, but there was not enough time for a proper one before dinner. “We can save the tour for after dinner.”

“Of course. You’re absolutely right.” 

Myka’s cheeks flushed a faint red yet again, and Helena did not hide the grin that crossed her face. Really, it was too easy to tease her. Especially now that she was no longer holding a gun on her.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Myka fidgeted on the landing, gaze flicking between the bathroom door and the sitting room. Artie had come in a few minutes earlier, and had not looked pleased to see her standing there as he rushed through the house. It hurt, it really hurt to discover that after nearly two years of working with him, trusting him with her life, he didn’t trust her in return. Didn’t trust her judgment, when he himself was constantly saying she was great at seeing the details of things. If there was a problem with Helena, she would have seen some sign of it, she was certain of that. It wasn’t like she hadn’t tried to bring up the topic of Helena G. Wells over the last four months. Every time the woman appeared in one of their cases, she kept him informed. Even when the woman saved Claudia’s life, he didn’t care, didn’t want to know why she was doing it. So of course, Myka had not run her final report through him. She rarely had him chop her reports anyway, so it wasn’t like he could say that she deliberately kept him out of the loop.

The door above her opened, and she pushed her hair back behind her ears as she watched Helena walk towards her. The woman really was elegance incarnate, even dressed in modern clothing. She wished, briefly, that she could see what Helena had looked like in the 1890’s. She wondered if it would match the image of her in a corset and bustled gown that flashed through her mind, or had she simply read too many Thomas Hardy books in high school. Had Helena known Thomas Hardy?

“Yes, and his wife Emma. A lovely woman. Charles and I had dinner with them on the occasions they came into London. Why?”

Myka’s eyes widened. Surely she hadn’t asked the question out loud. But Helena had answered, and was staring at her with a bemused expression on her face. “I... uhh... no reason. I was just curious.” She turned and headed down to the first floor. “We should go. Eat. It’s dinner time.”

She wasn’t sure, did not want to turn back to verify, but she had the feeling that Helena was laughing at her.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Dinner was an awkward affair for all involved. Pete felt sorry for Claudia, who’d received the full on Artie-glare the one time she asked H.G. about... something. He felt sorry for H.G. who was alternately ignored and scorned, depending on what she said, and to whom. The former if she said anything that might possibly have been aimed at Artie, and the latter when she spoke to anyone else. But really, he felt sorry for Myka, who shrank back in her chair at every biting word Artie said to, at, and around her. She spent much of the meal staring down at her plate, but he was sure he saw tears in her eyes. She barely touched her food, and after a few token bites, she quietly excused herself from the table.

Once they heard her door close above them, Pete watched Helena carefully set down her fork and put aside her napkin. Looking straight at Artie, who continued to ignore her and shovel food into his mouth, she said calmly, “You don’t like me. Rest assured, the feeling is entirely mutual. However, Agent Bering has done nothing wrong, and should not be punished solely because you are powerless against the decision of the Regents.” She spared a glance and a nod for Leena. “Forgive me, Leena, the meal was lovely. However, the company has become decidedly less pleasant, and I feel I must take my leave. Goodnight.”

For her part, Claudia looked between the empty chairs and Artie a few times, before shoving her chair back and scrambling out of the room. A herd of elephants would have been quieter than her as she ran upstairs. Leena just sat there, a contemplative look on her face, and Pete sighed, shaking his head. “She has a point, Artie,” he said, standing and carrying his plate and fork out of the room.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Myka had been sitting and staring out the window for about fifteen minutes, watching the last of the sun’s rays sink below the horizon, when there was a soft knock on the door. She ignored it, and the one that followed. She was not surprised when the door opened anyway.

“I’m sorry.”

She leaned her head against the wall. “It’s not your fault,” she said softly.

The bed creaked behind her. “It is. Agent Nielsen hates _me_. He should not be taking it out on you.”

The light faded away, and Myka blew out a heavy breath, watching the window in front of her fog up. 

“Are you still hungry? You didn’t eat but a mouthful tonight.”

“I’m fine, Helena.”

She wished Helena would leave her alone. She wished that she would stay. There had to be something wrong with her, to want something so impossible. At least she was far enough away from the Warehouse that she wouldn’t end up with another ferret. 

The blankets rustled and her eyes followed Helena’s reflection as she stood and closed the few steps between them. A thin, pale hand curled briefly around her shoulder, fingers just brushing against her neck, and she shivered. 

“I am truly sorry to cause problems between you. It was not my intention in returning to the Warehouse to cause such conflict.”

Myka nodded slightly, reaching her own hand up to curl around Helena’s fingers. “It’s alright. Artie... doesn’t deal well with new people. Maybe tomorrow will be better.”

It was an empty hope, and they both knew it. 

“We shall see.” Helena squeezed her hand once, and let go. As she opened the door, Myka heard her soft farewell.

“Goodnight, Helena,” she replied. 

She hoped she wasn’t making a mistake, trusting H.G. Wells. The woman had been a help on several occasions, and appeared to be genuine. The Regents would never have allowed her return otherwise. She wished that Artie had told her, would tell her, what it was he had against the woman. She trusted him. She trusted her. She didn’t want to have to choose between them. Not without a good reason. She knew who would win in that decision and she hated herself for it.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

**May**

That night started a pattern that would continue for several months. Artie did not relent on his hatred of Helena or his anger at Myka, making all time spent in each other’s company awkward, to say the least. Meal times were the worst; at least at the Warehouse Myka could escape to do inventory or research elsewhere. But, she settled into her new routine quietly, not wanting to make any more waves than she already had. Claudia dealt with it the worst of all of them. Pete was running interference for his partner as best he could, and Helena was ignoring the way Artie treated her. Her own focus seemed to be to be on shielding Myka, who simply retreated quietly into herself whenever Artie was around.

But Claudia... All she could do was watch as the family she’d built around herself crumbled. She wanted to take Artie’s side, because he was Artie, and he knew everything, more than he was saying... But Helena had saved her life. And she had an awesome time machine. And she’d protected Artie even when he wanted to kill her, which automatically gave her mega-props in Claudia’s book. And she protected Myka, without expectation of anything in return, much in the way Myka protected Claudia. And so she watched, as Artie glared at Myka and made biting, sarcastic comments and was generally more of an ass than usual.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Helena very much enjoyed the missions that took them away from South Dakota, preferably for days at a time. As much as Pete and even Myka on occasion complained about flying so much and not being able to “rack up miles,” whatever that meant, she was fascinated. Aeroplanes were so much faster than traveling by boat, horses or train. So much more than the gliders of Le Bris and Montgomery. She kept meaning to search the Warehouse’s library about them, but they hadn’t really had much time, and when she mentioned it to Pete, he laughed and said something about a googol being faster. What a math concept she’d read about recently had to do with it, she did not understand.

This new world was fascinating, though it jarred her greatly just how little humanity had progressed in a century. Most of humanity. There were a few bright spots, people she was pleased to see, that made the world better than it looked on paper. One person, in particular, who made her want to curl around them like a cat and never let go.

Time away from the Warehouse had the added bonus of causing Myka to become Myka again, and not the shell that she turned into whenever Artie was nearby. Each night that they spent at Leena’s proceeded in much the same fashion as Helena’s first night. Leena would serve, Artie would ignore, Claudia would stare at Myka like a puppy craving attention, and Myka would play with her food. Sometimes she would eat a bite or two, but more often than not she would push it around for a brief time and then excuse herself from the table. Helena paid close attention to which actions she took, as it infallibly told her where she would find the woman a few minutes later.

Two nights after their adventure with the time machine, Helena lightly touched Leena’s arm as the innkeeper came to pick up Myka’s still full plate.

“Would you keep this warm, give me about twenty minutes and then bring it to the study, please?”

“Of course,” Leena said, pleasantly, and Helena ate the rest of her meal quickly. 

When she was done, she left the table without a word and made her way quietly into the study. She found what she expected to find.

Myka had curled herself into a corner of the couch, a book resting on her knees and her head tipped down so that her hair obscured her face.

Helena picked a book at random from the shelves and joined her, sitting only a few inches from Myka’s sock covered feet. She heard the faint rustle of hair as Myka looked up at her, but she simply opened to the first page and started to read. A few minutes later, she heard a page turn once more as the warm body next to her slowly relaxed. Not long after, she noted that Myka was flexing her toes against the cushions and her legs tensed again. Casually, she reached over with one hand and drew first one, and then the other of Myka’s feet onto her lap, resting that same hand over the nearest ankle. She remained semi-absorbed in the book, only responding with a distracted “hmm?” when Myka finally said her name in a shaky voice.

“Never mind,” Myka replied before resettling herself on the couch.

That was how Leena found them when she came in carrying Myka’s dinner and a fork. Helena watched her pause in the doorway, her head canted to one side. Myka didn’t seem to notice, and Helena nodded slightly at Leena.

“I know you said were done, but I thought you might still be hungry.”

Myka looked up, startled, and saw Leena holding out her plate. She looked over at Helena, whose eyes were flicking over the pages, her arm still heavy across Myka’s legs. She set her book down between her thigh and back of the couch and took the offered plate. Her stomach growled, reminding her of how little she’d eaten. “Thank you, Leena,” she said softly.

She ate quietly, watching Helena read. It was weird to see the woman so still. She always seemed so full of energy, ready to go somewhere, do something. Her foot twitched as Helena slid her hand up from her ankle to wrap her fingers around her foot, thumb rubbing lightly over the back of it.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A week later, Myka escaped dinner and went up to her room to collapse on her bed. Rolling onto her stomach, she watched the numbers change on her clock. She counted down the minutes, and after twelve had gone by almost exactly, she heard footsteps outside her door and a quiet tapping. She didn’t bother answering, and the door opened anyway.

Helena walked in, and Myka simply watched her come over and set a small plate and fork down on the nightstand. She sat down at the foot of the bed, leaning against the bedpost.

“Leena made a lovely blueberry cobbler; you left before she brought it out.”

Every night was like this. Except for the two separate trips to collect easy-to-gather artifacts, for nearly two weeks Helena had been tracking her down and making sure she ate something. Myka would have thought it a maternal behavior, except... it wasn’t. She refused to consider what else it could be, but she hadn’t put a stop to it. She didn’t want to.

Food was always followed by conversation. About books, about her family, about the things she’d kept from home in her room. Sometimes about Helena’s life in the 19th century. Rarely about the Warehouse, at least not Warehouse 13. Things she couldn’t or just didn’t want to talk to Pete about. Things that Claudia, as much as Myka adored the younger woman, just wouldn’t understand.

Eyeing the dessert curiously, Myka sat up and leaned back against the headboard, pulling the plate into her lap. “Did you have any?”

“Yes. It was very good, I think you will like it.”

“Good. You can help me eat it, then.” When Helena froze, looking at her with widened eyes, she patted the mattress beside her. “This piece is too big for one person, and I’d hate to let it go to waste. You can help me it.”

“I... There’s only one fork...”

“We can share. I’m sure you don’t have cooties. Get up here.”

Helena eventually moved, settling beside her, their arms brushing. When Myka handed her the fork, she took a tiny piece from the far corner. “Are cooties some new bacteria you’ve discovered in the last century?” Helena asked seriously a few bites later.

Myka couldn’t help it. She burst out laughing, and tried to stifle it at Helena’s affronted look. “Sorry... I’m sorry... but it’s a school thing. Young boys try to kiss the young girls, or put worms in their hair, or something and the girls are afraid they’ll get cooties. Completely imaginary, except the boys have usually been playing in the dirt and go around trying to share that dirt with everyone around them.”

Helena just looked confused, and Myka took a big bite of the cobbler to stop herself from talking. After a moment though, the confusion cleared and Helena smiled and shook her head. “The future’s version of pig tails and ink wells,” she murmured.

“I take it Christina never worried about cooties?” Myka asked carefully, watching for and regretting the flash of pain that crossed the other woman’s face.

Helena reached up, as she always did, to grasp her locket. She looked down at it for a moment, before sighing and tucking it carefully away. “No. At least, I don’t think so. She had tutors at home, and was to have gone to school in Paris the next year. An all-girls school. The only young boys she interacted with were her cousins, my brother Charles’ sons, who were two and three years younger. Very polite children; very rarely to be found playing in the mud.”

“It has always sounded like such a... strange way to grow up,” Myka said, setting the empty plate aside. She resettled herself lying on the bed, hands clasped on her stomach as she stared up at the ceiling. “No school, no playgrounds, always wearing dresses... Even though I spent most of my time reading, I think I would have gone crazy in a life like that.”

A soft thud distracted her, and she looked over in time to see Helena drop her other shoe onto the floor.

“It was a good life. If it was all you knew, I don’t think you would even see a difference. Life here seems so strange to me, in many ways better, but in other ways, nothing has changed. From what I’ve seen, children today have too much freedom, too little structure to their lives. Parents have no expectations for them, and so they run wild, their behavior and manner of dress entirely inappropriate.” 

Myka laughed. “I think many people would disagree with you there. Between school and sports practices and all the other activities parents sign their children up for because they think it will make them stand out amongst their peers, it’s amazing they can sleep at all. Parenting ‘experts’ first complained about too little structure making lazy children, and now they have too much. Acting out is their way of trying to be themselves, not what their parents want them to be.”

“Would you do that to your child? Keep them so busy they can’t even think for themselves?”

There was an odd note in Helena’s voice, and Myka rolled onto her side to face her, resting her chin on her hand. “I don’t know? I wouldn’t think so, because my parents never pushed me... but I haven’t really thought about having kids, not in years. And, I would need a man in my life, at least for a few seconds, and that isn’t happening anytime soon.”

“Well,” Helena started, contemplative. “One of your advances that I do approve of is that a man is no longer a prerequisite.”

Myka poked her in the side. “Is this your plan, H.G.? To convince me to get pregnant so that you can move in and take my place on the team while I’m on maternity leave? Artie was right, you are planning something nefarious.”

Helena’s breath caught. “Of course not,” she answered too quickly. “I’m just saying, there isn’t the same stigma against unmarried mothers as there once was.”

“Christina’s father wasn’t around?” Myka had wondered about that. In all her research on the woman, she never found a single reference to a child The world believed that H.G. Wells was a man, and the only reference to children were two other sons born after Christina’s murder. Children, she assumed, who belonged to Charles.

Helena shook her head against the pillow. “He was not, nor did I care to have him there.”

“So you know...” Myka stopped too late, well aware of how utterly inappropriate her question was. She quickly laid back down on her back, biting her lip. 

Helena pushed herself up on her elbows, and Myka winced at the look on her face. “Yes, I know who the father of my child is! I had lovers, yes, but I was not some toffer who had so many a night she forgot their faces.”

Myka pressed her hands to her face, hiding behind them. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry... That’s not what I meant, I swear. It’s none of my business anyway.”

“No, it’s not,” Helena agreed, but her voice had lost almost all trace of insult. Myka relaxed and lowered her hands when Helena settled back down.

“She was a beautiful girl,” she offered a few minutes later, the image from the locket dancing across her closed eyes.

“Yes. Yes she was.”

“Just like her mother.”

Myka felt the mattress shift beneath her, but she kept her eyes closed.

“She was the best of me. A gift, one I never knew I wanted until I held her in my arms. I never knew I could love someone as much as I loved her. Never knew I could need someone.”

There was nothing Myka could say to that. She prayed a quick prayer, and slid her hand across the quilt, sighing softly when she found Helena’s hand. She lightly curled her fingers around the other woman’s, half expecting her to pull away. A long moment passed, and then she heard her draw in a ragged breath. The hand Myka held twisted until their fingers were tangled together neatly.


	2. Chapter 2

**July**

Claudia found Artie hunched over the computer, reading what looked like a timeline from a high school history book. As she sat down on the desk beside him, her eyes narrowed at what she read.

“Artie, don’t tell me you’re still worried about H.G. She’s been here three months, hasn’t she proven herself yet?”

“A leopard never changes its spots. She could be here three decades, I’ll never trust her.” He tapped a key, and three more days were added to the screen.

“So you’re tracking every move that she makes, twenty-four seven? What is that going to prove, Artie, that she spends all her time here, or at Leena’s, or hunting down the artifact of the week?”

Artie pointed at an open spot on each of the timelines. “What about here? Nearly every night, two, three, sometimes four or more hours a night, unaccounted for. She isn’t in her room, the motion detectors I put in are sure of that.”

“Really, Artie, motion detectors? What’s next, video surveillance, with sound, so you can get your jollies watching her every day?”

He paused, momentarily distracted. “Cameras... That is a good idea, Claudia, thank you.”

She shook her head. “Sarcasm, Artie. Learn to recognize it.” She pointed at the screen. “I can tell you what she does during those hours. That would be when she goes to make sure Myka eats after you run her from the table every night. Which you seriously need to stop doing, dude. Myka works her butt off for you; you can’t keep treating her like she doesn’t exist. Seriously not cool.”

“Don’t you have something better to do than critique how I do my job, which is protecting this Warehouse, by the way? I thought you were hacking the Saudi national bank, or something.”

“I would be, but someone is hogging the computer.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

In celebration of a quick and easy artifact retrieval and flight back to South Dakota that would not begin until the next afternoon in Sevilla, Helena requested two bottles of wine and headed out to the terrace. Pete was still complaining about how much of a pain it had been to win the original al-shabbaba at an auction, as though the nine hundred year old wooden flute were just a miraculous piece of wood that never aged. Helena privately found his primary school attempts at Spanish laughable, while Myka was watching him with a resigned but patient look on her face.

She set the bottles on the table, along with three glasses. At the noise, the other two looked over and while Myka grinned, Pete just pursed his lips.

“Celebratory drink?” she asked, dropping nonchalantly onto the bench.

“I think I will leave you two to your wine. I’ll see you tomorrow at breakfast?”

“Are you sure you won’t stay?” Helena asked, nonplussed. “It’s a good vintage.”

Pete and Myka shared a glance, and she nodded slightly. 

“I’m sure it is, and thank you for the invitation. But I’m going to head to bed. Not battling it out for an artifact is strangely exhausting.” He stood up and waved as he turned away.

Myka looked back over her shoulder. “Night, Pete!”

Helena watched him leave before turning to look at the other woman. Myka was watching her, a content smile on her face. “Have I done something to upset him? I assure you it was entirely unintentional.”

Myka reached out for her hand, and tugged her closer. “It’s not you. Pete just doesn’t drink.”

“Really? He never seemed like one of those prohibitionists that were running around.” She carefully opened one of the bottles and poured two glasses, handing one to Myka. “Cheers.”

They tapped glasses and took a drink. Myka turned to face her and pulled her feet up onto the bench between them. “He’s not. He just... has a problem with alcohol. With liking alcohol too much.”

“Oh.” That made sense. “Say no more.”

They didn’t talk much during the rest of that glass of wine, and the next. It was much too relaxing to just sit there watching the sun set. They could see the Catedral de Córdoba in the distance, and Helena sighed in appreciation as the last rays of sunlight glinted off the roof. “One thing I do miss is how long it took to travel anywhere,” she mused. 

“Really? Why?”

“We relied on ships and trains, and they didn’t run every day. We often had days to explore after we retrieved the artifacts. Christina loved architecture, and I would spend hours, sometimes days, wandering the bazaars looking for the perfect sketch for her.”

“You do have a point. We don’t often have time to play tourist.”

“Do not misunderstand me,” Helena continued, setting aside her glass and opening the second bottle to breathe. “There are many advances you’ve made in the last century, and aeroplanes are wonderful. The ships always made me seasick, anyway.”

Myka laughed at that. “You, the indomitable H.G. Wells, who survived bronzing for a hundred years, get seasick?”

“Don’t mock me!” Helena retorted, feigning anger. “If anything, you should be offering to bring me tea with lemon to ease my pain.”

“And why would I do that?” Myka slid her foot out, nudging Helena’s thigh. She got lightly swatted for her efforts.

“Because I bought these lovely bottles of wine to celebrate your brilliant use of logic over Agent Lattimere’s unstoppable... energy. You really should be nicer to me.”

Myka set her glass aside. Helena looked at it, startled. She hadn’t seen Myka drink the entire glass. So focused on that detail, she jumped at the soft fingers that trailed over her brow. Myka had moved to kneel on the bench beside her, her knees pressed tightly to Helena’s thigh.

“I’m always nice to you. How could I not be? You’re the only one who cares if I’m ok.”

Helena blinked. The wine had finally started to affect her. That had to be the only reason for the funny feeling in her stomach from the way Myka was looking at her, all soft eyes and small, joyful smile. “Well, there is that,” she replied, leaning slightly away. “More wine?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

They were on their last glasses from the last bottle, when Myka asked, her voice slurred, “So, what is your favorite thing about the twenty-first century?” She was settled back in her corner of the bench, features in shadow from the lamplight.

It was a serious question, one that Helena contemplated long and hard, discarding several answers before she settled on “Pete.”

Myka choked on her wine. “Pete? Seriously, of all the things we’ve accomplished in a hundred years, you pick _Pete_?” She drew back one of her feet from where it had rested on Helena’s lap.

“Pete,” Helena repeated, with a satisfied nod.

“But... why?” Myka looked so insulted that it was all Helena could do not to burst out laughing.

“I just find it so amusing what creatures you allow children to keep as pets. We used to eat them, my mother had a lovely recipe.”

Myka sputtered, utterly confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Pete, of course.”

“Pete?”

“Yes. Your ferret?”

Myka just stared at her, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. Finally, giving up on a response, she pulled her other foot away and hunched down in her seat. “I hate you,” she muttered petulantly. 

Helena patted her on the knee. “No you don’t. You adore me.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was late when they stumbled back to their room, unsuccessfully trying to keep quiet as first Myka and then Helena fumbled with the key. As the door shut behind them, Helena stumbled and fell into Myka, who kept her upright but barely. They ended up pressed against each other, breath mingling from lips separated only by millimeters. Helena slid her hands up Myka’s arms as Myka just smiled, and closed the distance between them.

Their first kiss was gentle, and could have been explained away as friendly if not for the way Myka’s hands slid down to curl around Helena’s hips. Helena tangled her fingers in Myka’s curly hair and deepened the kiss, swallowing Myka’s soft whimper. For one brief moment, Myka thought she ought to step away, that this wasn’t supposed to be happening, but then Helena’s fingers were undoing the buttons of her shirt and she caved to the heat that was building inside her.

Somehow they undressed, fumbling as they went, until Helena was leaning over Myka, tugging at her underwear and nipping at the soft skin around her belly button. All of Myka was soft, from her hair to her breasts, to the warm heat Helena caressed moments later. She slid back up to kiss her, their tongues dancing as she pressed her fingers inside. Myka moved against her, one hand clenched against her back as Helena’s thumb brushed against her clit in an intoxicating rhythm.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Their frenzied lovemaking slowed eventually, strong thrusts and passionate kisses becoming gentle caresses and softly whispered words. Myka slowly kissed her way back up Helena’s body, stopping to nuzzle at her breast and run her tongue softly over a bite mark she had left some time before.

Helena shivered and ran one hand over Myka’s hair Oh, how she loved Myka’s hair, especially as it trailed over her skin. Her other hand grasped for the sheet, and she pulled it up over them as Myka settled against her shoulder. Her heart rate slowing, something important nudged at the back of her mind. “I lied,” she finally mumbled, blinking open.

“Mmm?” Myka hummed, touching her tongue to Helena’s neck in a gentle lick.

“You are the most wondrous thing about this century. Nothing else compares,” she said quietly, her voice barely more than a whisper. She closed her eyes, her hand curling around Myka’s elbow.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was the splitting headache that finally roused Myka. She was lying on her side facing away from the window, for which she was grateful. The light reflecting off of the wall was bad enough as she blinked open her eyes. “God... whoever turned the sun on this morning needs to die...” she mumbled, shutting her eyes tightly and tugging on the blanket. The blanket didn’t move. Something behind her did. A warm hand slid over her side and an even warmer body pressed against her back. A warmer, naked body.

Her eyes flew open and she stopped breathing. She was naked as well. There was a pleasant ache between her legs that was making itself known, and the soft puff of air rhythmically brushing against her back was raising goose bumps. Carefully, she inched away until she could sit up, the hand on her side sliding down to her hip and then to the bed. It took several minutes of just sitting before her head stopped spinning and she could look around without feeling nauseous. She cracked open one eye and looked at the bed beside her. She focused on Helena’s naked back, moving gently as she breathed, black hair in a tangle over her shoulder, the implication too much to bear. 

Helena didn’t move when she stood up from the bed, and fighting a roiling stomach all the way, she gathered her strewn clothing and suitcase and fled to the bathroom. She locked the door behind her, and looked at herself in the mirror. She looked away, biting at her lip. It wasn’t until she was standing in the shower, water beating down on her, that she let herself cry. She’d ruined everything.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

By the time Pete arrived in the lobby, his partner was sitting with a cup of coffee, her hair up in a twist and her sunglasses on. “Oh boy,” he muttered, and made his way over to her, setting his bag beside hers along the wall. “Hey, Myks, what’s wrong?”

She didn’t look at him, just tightened her grip on her coffee cup. “Why would anything be wrong?”

“You only wear your hair up like that anymore when you are upset about something. And you’re wearing sunglasses indoors at eight in the morning. As you are the only person I know who actually enjoys being awake in the mornings, today you look like someone killed your ferret and that concerns me.”

Myka bit her lip, and Pete wanted to kick himself. It looked like she was going to start crying, and he didn’t handle crying people very well, especially crying people who carried guns. Where was Helena when he needed her, he wondered. She was the expert on making Myka feel better, God only knew Artie had given her plenty of opportunities to practice over the last few months. 

“Is Helena on her way down? We have some time, but we should leave soon to catch the train to Sevilla.”

He didn’t miss how Myka let go of her cup and clenched her fist, knuckles turning white under the pressure. 

“She’s in the room. She’ll be down in time,” was her only response. 

Great. This was starting out to be a wonderful day of travel. Only thirty hours to go.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

After Helena joined them for a buttered croissant and a cup of tea, they made their way to the Cordoba Train Station, and from there to Sevilla. Helena tried several times to speak with Myka alone, to find out just why she had woken up alone that morning, but she was rebuffed each time. Myka hovered around Pete, who was eyeing them both with concern. Helena gave up eventually, enduring the hour long flight to Lisbon silently, refusing to react when Myka asked Pete to take the seat next to Helena. She wanted to confront her, if only to find out just what she had done, or not done, or said, that was making Myka run away from her. But she never had the opportunity.

Not until they landed in Portugal, at any rate. After finding their gate back to Newark, Myka excused herself to go to the restroom, and Helena finally had her chance. She followed her, aware of Pete’s gaze on her back, and hid just inside the door until Myka came out of a stall to wash her hands. She came up behind her, blocking the way to the door, and watched Myka tense when she saw her in the mirror. She did not like not being able to see Myka’s eyes. This would be so much easier if she could see her eyes; they were so expressive and honest.

“Myka...” She reached out to touch her arm, but pulled her hand back when Myka took a step away.

“Myka,” she tried again. “I don’t understand, why are you pulling away from me? Last night was...”

“A mistake,” Myka interrupted. 

“Pardon?” That was not what she expected to hear. Not from the woman who had kissed her first. Not from the woman who had been flirting with her since first they met.

Myka backed away, stopping when she hit the wall. “It was a mistake. It will never happen again.”

“Myka...” Helena followed her, coming to a halt inches from her. She brought her hands up to rest on Myka’s shoulders, ignoring her efforts to shrug them off. “Why are you acting like this? If you must, last night can be a onetime occurrence, but it was more than just a drunken indiscretion.” With one hand, she reached up and pulled off Myka’s sunglasses, startled to see the red-rimmed eyes. “Surely you can see that.”

Myka snatched back the sunglasses. “Don’t touch me, Helena!” she snapped. “Just because you live your life for the obscene doesn’t mean that I want any part of it.”

Helena dropped her hands and took a step back. Regret she would have understood; had seen it often enough in the early mornings of her past, but anger? Anger was new, and unexpected. She allowed herself one breath, during which her own frustration spilled forth, and then she met Myka’s gaze, her eyes hard. “Don’t worry, Agent Bering. I prefer my lovers to be willing partners, not scared little girls. I won’t come near you again.” She turned and walked away.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Pete watched helplessly as his partner dropped heavily into the seat beside him. Ten minutes earlier, Helena had returned, anger burning in her eyes. She’d grabbed her carryall and stormed away, taking a seat on the other side of the boarding area. Before he could even think about asking what was going on, Myka said pointedly, “Not one word, Pete.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Claudia didn’t understand. She didn’t like change. They’d finally settled into their new Artie-hates-Helena routine, and though annoying, life nonetheless had carried on. But in the five days since Pete, Myka and Helena had returned from Spain, it was obvious that something had gone very wrong over there. She and Leena had ruled out artifact exposure, as the artifact they retrieved was not one that created this sort of chaos. The emotional kind.

Artie was still being the bitter old man who didn’t get his way, and Myka was still escaping from every non-work related group event, but that was it. Helena no longer chased after Myka, no longer seemed to care. She went out of her way to steer clear of her, sitting as far from her at the dinner table as she could, choosing different areas of the Warehouse to inventory where before they’d always wandered off together. It was clear where Pete’s loyalties lie, as he stuck with his partner. All in all, it was civil, if only because no one was talking to each other. Anyone looking in from the outside wouldn’t necessarily see anything wrong.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Helena was sick of this. If she thought she would get very far leaving the Warehouse and setting off on her own, she would go in a heartbeat. Faster, actually. However, she knew she would face a lifetime of being chased by Artie Nielsen, if not the Regents, if she did leave, and so she was stuck. For the moment, until she came up with a better plan, at any rate. It was becoming unbearable in the Warehouse. She was left with only Claudia to speak with. While that was not necessarily a bad thing, Claudia wanted to know what was going on, and was not very subtle in her questioning, and Helena simply could not discuss this with her. There was only one person she could talk to, and that no longer seemed to be an option.

She’d gotten over her anger by the time they arrived in Rapid City. Her temper had abated, and she had gone over the morning in her head during the rest of their travel back, and though it had taken hours, she finally recognized what she had seen in Myka’s eyes in that brief moment in the bathroom. It wasn’t regret, it wasn’t disgust. It was fear. Pain. Sadness. Something about their night together terrified her. She didn’t know what it was, any more than she knew what to do about it. Myka was avoiding her, quite effectively.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A week later, with another uncomfortably awkward road trip behind them, Helena had enough. She was amazed that they had been able to find the artifact at all, much less prevent the destruction of Boston. And she was actually feeling sorry for Pete, forced to run interference. As patient as he was, she could tell that things were wearing thin. She wasn’t doing much better.

She returned to Leena’s before the others, and after dropping off her bag in her room, she walked into Myka’s and sat on the bed, waiting. She didn’t care how long it took, if she had to chase her across the continent. She and Myka were going to talk. 

Nearly half an hour later, she heard a car drive up and then the front door shut. Heavy footsteps made their way up the stairs, and she listened for Pete’s door across the hall. A few minutes later, lighter footsteps slowly made their way up, and she could easily picture Myka, exhausted, pulling herself up the stairs.

When Myka opened and shut her door without even glancing around the room, Helena reached over and flicked on the table lamp. Myka whipped around, one hand reaching for the gun still resting in its holster against her hip. 

“Must you always point a gun at me? I thought we had moved beyond that stage months ago,” she said casually.

“What are you doing, Helena?” Myka replied, ignoring her attempt at levity. 

“We need to talk.”

“You need to leave.”

“No.”

Myka turned back from her closet where she had been emptying her travel bag. “Excuse me? This is my room, last time I checked. I want you to leave.”

“I’m not leaving until we’ve talked. We can’t go on like this, Myka. It’s ripping us apart.”

“Fine.” Helena stifled a grin, certain she’d won. “If you won’t leave, I will.” 

Or not, she mused, leaping up from the bed and slamming her hand against the door just as Myka turned the doorknob. “Neither of us is leaving here until we’ve talked about this.”

Myka pushed at her arm, but she refused to move.

“I’ve already said what I wanted to say. I don’t want to talk about this. Why can’t you respect that?”

“Because I don’t believe you.” Helena lowered her arm and leaned back against the door. “I can’t believe that we would share a bed, share our bodies as we did, and then you just carry on as if it never happened. Except you aren’t. If you were, we’d be able to work together. You wouldn’t spend all your energy finding ways to avoid my company.”

Myka glared at her and turned away, kicking off her shoes and lying down on the bed. 

“Myka...” The woman on the bed ignored her. 

“Why can’t you just go away?” Myka asked softly, staring up at the ceiling.

“I will.”

“Now would be a good time.”

“I’m not leaving until we’ve talked about this. I don’t care if we sit here for days, we cannot go on like this.” Helena slid down the door until she was sitting on the floor. She rested her hands on her knees, watching Myka watch the window.

She waited for Myka to say anything, do anything, beyond just lie there. At most, all she did was tightly clench her hands on her stomach, a sign of nervousness, and perhaps impatience. 

“Alright then, I’ll start. You are a very beautiful, very passionate woman. I don’t understand what terrified you so much about our night together that you would react so harshly. I do not believe you are like those Americans who detest the idea of two women together, though it is possible that I am wrong. You are certainly not reacting as I expected.”

That caused a reaction. Myka pushed herself up on her elbows and glared at her accusingly. “You’d considered this?”

“You make it sound as though I set out to seduce you. I assure you, that was never my intention. Did I enjoy our time together? I will not deny it, but I would remind you that you kissed me first.”

“No I didn’t,” Myka denied, shaking her head.

Helena snorted indelicately. “Yes, you did. Believe me, I would not deny it if it were me. I take credit for some of the flirtations we have engaged in, however you played a part in those as well. My flirtations would not have continued without your reciprocation.” 

Myka flopped back down on the bed. “God... I did.”

_Progress_ , Helena thought. “Why did you run away that morning,” she asked quietly. “Do you realize how I felt, waking up after the night we had, as close as we were, and finding you not only gone, but all traces of you gone from the room? It felt almost like a dream; if I hadn’t seen the marks you left on my skin and felt the shadow of you between my thighs, I would have thought it only a fantasy.” 

She thought she heard a whimper from the woman on the bed. “Must you talk like that?”   
Myka asked, and Helena thought that she’d heard a hint of levity in her voice.

“I’m a writer by trade,” she offered, relaxing. “If I had a bit more time, I could even be a poet for you. I do not lack for inspiration.”

Helena was fairly certain that, were she to move, Myka would no longer try to escape the room. Fairly certain, but even so, it took several quiet minutes of arguing with herself before she got up from the floor and walked over to the bed, taking a seat on the very edge of the mattress by Myka’s feet. Myka’s gaze flicked to the door and back to her, but she didn’t move, and Helena breathed a soft sigh of relief. She wanted to reach out, to touch her, connect with her, but that would be moving too fast. Myka was still a scared little mouse, waiting for the coast to be clear so that she could bolt away from danger.

And Helena was dangerous, that was true. There was no denying it. But that didn’t make her desire for Myka any less real. She leaned back against the bed post, much as she had done the first evening she’d spent in Myka’s room, months before. “I have missed your company,” she mused, dragging her toe against the grain of the carpet. “I told you once that I have no tether to this world I’ve found myself in. Nothing to hold me here, except the mission of the Warehouse. But I do now, and it’s you. Without you, I flounder.”

“We can’t do this, Helena,” Myka repeated. She twirled a strand of hair absently around her fingers. 

“You keep saying that. But what are we doing, that we can’t do any longer? We are friends. We were friends before, and that hasn’t changed, unless that is what you think we cannot continue.” She tucked her hair back behind her ear, missing her perfectly styled chignon. She was not used, even after so many months, to letting her hair hang freely and brush against her shoulders in a way it had not since she was a child. 

Myka rolled onto her side, facing away from her. Helena felt a moment’s guilt as she admired the soft skin that was revealed as Myka’s shirt was pulled a few inches up her back. She always did admire the curve of a hip and the gentle sloping along the ribs.

“You referred to our night together as obscene. Did you mean that?” She gave Myka no chance to answer. “I don’t think that you did. I think you are just afraid of the implications. But, darling, it doesn’t have to imply anything. The alcohol simply relaxed us, let our inhibitions fade away, and we enjoyed each other. A simple extension of our friendship, it doesn’t have to be anything more than that. It doesn’t change who you are.”

Myka snorted, an indelicate, unladylike noise that forced Helena to bite back a laugh. “You make this sound so simple. Why can’t you understand that this is difficult for me?”

Helena rolled her eyes. They really were getting nowhere, the conversation just kept circling back to the same point. “I do understand. I do. What I don’t understand is why. Why this scares you so. You say you don’t want things to change, and they don’t have to. Spending one night together does not a relationship make, not in 1899, and not now. You have to know that I would not try to force you into repeating the experience. Willing lovers happen to be my preference.” She reached out and rested her fingers on the side of Myka’s leg, refusing to pull them back when Myka flinched.

Myka shifted, and something about the way she held herself made Helena believe that perhaps they were reaching the end of this impasse. She waited, leaving her hand on Myka’s calf. 

Myka took a deep breath, held it, and then let it out heavily. “I can’t be gay, Helena.”

That made her pause. What did being cheerful have to do with their discussion? Then something clicked, and a few headlines the she hadn’t bothered to read further flittered through her memory. “You are referring to a relationship between two women,” she said carefully, hoping she had it right.

Myka glanced over her shoulder, and gave a small nod when she recognized Helena’s confusion. 

“I don’t understand. It is not a crime. They cannot imprison you as they did men in my time.”

“My parents would never understand!” Myka finally hissed out, and Helena’s eyebrows shot up.

She could see how family might be a concern. While it was no great secret amongst her group of friends that she had intimate relationships with women as well as men, it was not something she shared with her family. But, she had wealth of her own, moneys and properties that were independent of her family, who had very little to begin with. Charles had allowed himself to be used in her stead with regards to her writing, and though she had offered him compensation many times, including after the births of her nephews, he had refused her. As she understood it, in these modern times, the children, especially the young women, were no longer beholden to their parents’ whims in the same way. Marriages were not arranged with the transfer of money in mind. Every program Claudia had invited her to watch, every advertisement she came across, even the literature she saw in book shops, all made the case for independent women looking for love in a relationship. Not security, not movement up in society, not freedom from their families, but love.

She expressed as much to Myka, her voice ripe with confusion. “But... you are a woman of independent means. You are not beholden upon them for anything. You yourself told me that you are not terribly close with your parents, due in part to their not understanding your chosen profession. Why should your personal life make any difference? It is your life, is it not?”

“They may not understand why I enjoy being in the Secret Service, and they could never even fathom the Warehouse, but being gay is something completely different! They live in one of the most conservative areas of Colorado, and belong to one of the loudest churches that preach against homosexuality. I’m already the abnormal one in the family. This they could never stomach.”

“Then it need not be repeated. Nor will it be mentioned again.” Helena pushed herself up from the bed and turned away. “I hope that our working relationship will return to how it once was. I believe we were an effective team once. We can be again.”

Myka did not reply. Helena turned at the door, looking at her one last time. Myka had sat up and was watching her; the expression on her face could only be described as tortured. 

“Dinner should be ready soon. You should eat. It has been a long time since breakfast.”


	3. Chapter 3

**August**

Helena spent the next several days absorbed in inventory, emerging at regular intervals for meals, before retiring to her room each night, a new book in hand. She could feel Myka’s eyes on her on occasion, and a part of her wanted to go to her and beg for an answer, a resolution, anything, but she held back. Patience was the key. Myka had to make up her own mind, and as skittish as she was on the subject, Helena knew that if she pushed too hard too fast, she would scare the other woman away and she would be left with nothing. This was a friendship she wanted to fight for with every weapon in her admittedly limited arsenal, but it would have to remain a one sided battle for now.

Besides, inventory was as fascinating now as it ever had been. In her wanderings she’d noted a number of artifacts she remembered clearly searching for a century prior. Marie Antoinette’s death shawl had been particularly troubling, as the wearer would lose their head, literally, upon taking it off. Others were simply amusing, such as a pen belonging to a gentleman named Disney that drew amusing caricatures of animals all by itself, and a bandalore that could be played continuously without needing to be rewound. One of her favorite toys as a child, and she was at times tempted to try this one out, just for fun. Why they had renamed it that ridiculous name, “yo-yo,” she could not fathom. She also assisted Claudia with her computer, or rather, would start a conversation that led to the girl instructing her on yet another aspect of this new technological information sharer. It was so much easier, and much more fun than the typewriter of her memory.

It was only at night then, that she allowed thoughts of Myka take hold, although “allow” was perhaps too strong a word. Images of the woman, her smile, the ghost of a sensation across her skin, haunted her dreams night after night. She remembered, oh God how she remembered that night. Relished in the emotions, the odd but surprisingly appealing feeling of Myka’s bare, smooth legs. Whilst Myka had been recovering her breath, Helena had remained between her legs, head resting on her thigh, brushing her palm over the smooth skin above her knee. She longed to feel that again, to taste her again, to have Myka’s fingers and tongue between her own thighs. It was a longing of a sort she had not felt for many years, even before Christina’s death, not since her first forays into the sexual arts.

Myka was like a drug, one from which she had yet to return to Earth after her experience with it. She was addicting, all consuming, a wondrous escape from the realities of her own existence. Whether in her arms or by her side, Helena needed her to feel alive, to feel… whole.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Myka had only been inside Helena’s room a small handful of times, and never at night. Their evenings in each other’s company had always taken place either downstairs or in Myka’s room. And so, it was with a good deal of nervousness that Myka stood, poised to knock on her door. This would be a deliberate act, an admission of something she was not entirely sure she wanted to claim as her own. But none of the arguments she’d made with herself over the last several weeks, the lists of pros and the longer list of cons she’d drawn up, could deny what she felt. She wanted her. Helena. She wanted Helena to be hers.

The past weeks spent avoiding her had been some of the loneliest she could remember. Never mind that her exile was self-appointed. There was a new-found peace in her life when she was in Helena’s presence, and not even the terrifying thought of her parents’ disapproval could change the fact that she felt more like herself when she was with Helena than she ever had before. Twenty-eight seemed so old to be coming to terms with her identity, much less her sexuality, but nevertheless, there it was. Whether or not _lesbian_ was a title she could carry for herself, Helena had become such an integral part of her life in so short a time… She couldn’t bear to let her slip away.

All of this she considered again as she stared at Helena’s closed door. The light was on, and she could hear the occasional footstep, so the object of so many of her thoughts was in there. Myka knew that she needed to move, needed to act, before it was too late. But it was a scary prospect, one she had already fled from twice in the preceding days.

She took a deep breath, hoping to quiet her racing heart, and knocked tentatively on the door. It felt like the hardest thing she had ever done, and yet, when the door opened, all she could fathom was how beautiful Helena was. 

“Hi,” she whispered inanely.

“Hi.”

Was that hope that she heard in Helena’s voice? “Can I… umm… Can I come in?”

“Always.”

Myka walked inside, brushing against Helena’s side as the woman didn’t move to let her pass. She forced herself not to tense up as she heard the door shut solidly behind her. “How are you?” she asked, suddenly completely unsure of herself now that she was alone with her. The smirk that crossed Helena’s lips did not do much in the way of reassuring her.

“I am doing well. A bit tired, but that is to be expected after a hard day’s work, don’t you agree?”

Helena really was not going to give her any leeway, she realized. She shoved her hands in her pockets and looked down at the hardwood floor. It had to be cold on Helena’s bare feet, she mused, and then shook her head. Now was not the time for such ridiculous thoughts. “Do you have a few minutes?” 

Helena walked away from her and sat down on the small couch she’d had installed in the room sometime after the last time Myka was there. “Darling, I have all the time in the world,” she replied sardonically, and Myka winced.

She worried her lip for a moment, watching Helena watch her dispassionately, and then looked away. “I’m sorry,” she said finally, her voice soft. “I’m sorry I ran away that morning, and for the things I said in Lisbon, and the way I’ve treated you since. Our conversation a week ago. What we did scared me… Not _what_ we did, particularly, but what I felt. What it all meant. I said that before, I know, but… it still scares me.

“I don’t like being scared. I guess nobody does, really, but I don’t like not understanding what I’m doing, and I don’t even _know_ what we’re doing.”

Helena just looked at her, in relaxed repose on the couch, arms loosely crossed on her lap.

Myka forged on, her frustration at the lack of response giving her the energy she needed to continue. “I mean, do you want there to be something between us? You said that I shouldn’t let my fears about my family get in the way of my happiness, but what about you? In everything you said the other day, you never said what you wanted. If you wanted anything. You never said what you thought of that night. I don’t know what you want from me!”

“I told you, I prefer my lovers to be willing. If a relationship between us is something you want, then that pleases me, as I feel the same way. More than anything, however, I want to keep your friendship, so if you decide that anything romantic between us is anathema to you, then all I ask of you is your friendship.” 

Myka suddenly felt like she was speaking a different language. “Why can’t you give me a straight answer?”

Helena rolled her eyes, and it took all of Myka’s will not to stamp her foot onto the floor. For one thing, she hadn’t done that since she was a child. 

“I have answered every question you have asked me thus far, from my well-being to what I desire to be between us. If my answers do not meet with your approval, then perhaps you are asking the wrong questions?” Helena stood up and walked towards her, stopping less than a foot away. “I think I will ask the questions now… beginning with, what will you do when I do this?”

Myka was still reacting to the warmth that was radiating from Helena’s body, and she didn’t move when Helena’s hands curled gently around her neck, one hand sliding up to tangle with her hair and pull her forward. Helena’s lips covered hers, and with a sigh she deepened the kiss, answering Helena’s question as clearly as if she had written it in stone. When they parted, they came together again and again, the pace of each kiss slowing until they were nuzzling more than kissing, and breathing each other in more than either. 

“I think I like that answer,” Helena said, her breath ghosting against Myka’s cheek as she pulled away.

“I think I do, too,” Myka whispered, sliding her hands tentatively over Helena’s hips. She lowered her head until her forehead rested against Helena’s, and closed her eyes. “Be patient with me?” she asked. “I don’t know what I’m doing, and I’ll probably screw this up…”

She was cut off with a kiss, and she decided the kissing was better than talking anyway. She liked the taste of Helena on her tongue, and it brought back the pleasant memories that she’d been trying for nearly a month to ignore. When they finally came up for air, Myka was startled to find that she had moved during the kiss, and was now seated on the edge of the bed, Helena straddling her hips. She had no memory of the several steps that had to have taken her, and she stared into Helena’s eyes dumbly. 

“You really are so beautiful,” Helena murmured, her fingers tracing along Myka’s hairline. 

Myka blushed and turned her head to the side, avoiding her probing gaze. “You don’t have to say things like that,” she whispered, clutching at Helena’s back. Her movements tugged at Helena’s shirt, and she brushed her thumb against the sliver of skin that was revealed on her side. 

The hand that had been tracing her ear cupped her cheek and turned her head so that she had to meet Helena’s gaze. A thumb ran over her lower lip, and involuntarily she flicked her tongue at it. Helena grinned at her in response, and leaned forward to nip at her jaw line.

“You should know by now, darling, I never say anything I don’t mean.” 

Myka nodded, her eyes locked on Helena’s. There was a smile in her eyes now, one that she had not seen since the morning they left Cordoba, and Myka decided then and there that she would do whatever was within her power to keep that smile there. She leaned in, pressing her lips gently to Helena’s. Her eyelids fluttered closed, and she opened her mouth to Helena’s questing tongue, pulling her on top of her as she fell back onto the bed. Helena’s lithe body covered hers and it was just as she’d dreamed it had been, although with clothes. Their curves fit together, and Helena’s long torso meant that, when Myka spread her legs, Helena’s hips rested in the most delightful position, making her moan against her mouth.

The pounding on the door startled them both, and Helena had to scramble not to lose her balance and fall off the bed. “Yo, H.G.” they heard through the door, and looked at each other in confusion.

“Claudia,” Myka whispered, running a hand through her hair. It definitely looked tousled in the mirror, and without a brush, anyone with half a brain would be able to guess what she had been doing. If her kiss-swollen lips didn’t give it away first. 

Helena shooed her over to the couch, out of sight of the door, and after straightening out her own hair, opened the door a few inches and blocked the view into the room as best she could. 

“Yes?”

Helena’s voice was pleasant, and Myka would not have been able to tell that she had been so recently interrupted if she hadn’t herself been a willing participant. 

“We still on for the _Star Wars_ marathon? It’s on in like ten, and no one’s seen you since dinner.”

Myka swallowed down a laugh. She remembered, months earlier, Claudia’s excitement as she realized that H.G. Wells, as the author of so many “awesome science fiction books,” just had to be a fan of the movies. It didn’t matter to her that movies had not even been invented yet by the time the woman had been bronzed. Claudia had made it her mission to introduce her to, and then quiz her on her opinion of, practically every science fiction movie known to man. Myka had sat in on the _Star Trek_ marathon, and had thoroughly enjoyed the way Claudia pouted as Helena proceeded to critique the science of each movie. Her writing, she’d explained quite seriously, had been speculative fiction, assuming that in the next century the technology she and her contemporaries had imagined were indeed based on technology they were already familiar with. If her own works sometimes strayed even beyond those guidelines, it was only because of her exposure to the wonders of the Warehouse. Claudia had continued to pout, however, until Helena patted her on the shoulder and said that, despite all that, the characters were good, and the story was interesting, and who was she to say that science fiction couldn’t improve with time. 

“I… of course. I’ll be down momentarily.”

“Awesome! I’ll make more popcorn!”

Seconds later, Myka heard footsteps pounding down the stairs, and she did laugh at the consternation on Helena’s face. “You know you are one of her favorite people now, right? I have the strangest feeling that, were she still young enough to dress up for Halloween, she would dress up as a miniature H.G. Wells.”

It was rare that Myka got to see Helena flustered, much less blush such a bright red. She got up from the couch and went to her, grabbing hold of her hands. 

“I can stay up here, if you would like me to,” Helena told her, her eyes serious. “I’m not foolish enough to believe that all is resolved between us now.”

“You promised Claudia. And besides, you were right, we have plenty of time to figure this out.”

“Join me,” Helena responded, tugging Myka against her. “I’ve missed spending our evenings together.”

It was Myka’s turn to blush, and to hide it she pressed her lips against Helena’s, feeling the slight burn of tears in her eyes. She pulled back, blinking, and brushed another kiss against her mouth. “You are just lucky that I happen to love _Star Wars_.”

They spent hours that night curled up on the couch with Claudia, not getting to bed until the sun had already started to rise.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The next morning, Helena joined Myka for inventory once more, leaving Claudia and Pete to wander off together. They worked amiably together for an hour, before Pete turned and leaned back against the shelf. Claudia looked up at him from where she was sorting through a box of 17th century Toricelli inventions.

“Artie’s not going to be happy about this, is he?” Pete asked casually.

“Nope,” Claudia replied, setting aside the box. She crossed her legs and rested her elbows on her knees. “Are we happy about this?” She’d seen the faint blush that seemed to have taken up permanent residence on Myka’s cheeks since she and Helena had joined her for movie night. She couldn’t complain about the lessening of the tension in the house that magically occurred the night before, but now there were other things to worry about.

Pete did not answer right away. “For now,” he said finally. He looked down at the floor, and then up at the roof. “We’ll just… have to keep an eye on things. Make sure Myka doesn’t get hurt.”

“As long as your idea of keeping an eye on things is not the same as Artie’s, I’m in,” Claudia said, and then cringed. She’d forgotten that Pete didn’t know about what Artie was doing. She considered not elaborating on her statement, but given the way Pete’s eyes narrowed, she caved and passed on Artie’s activities quickly. Pete’s reaction was everything she expected. 

“He’s got a death wish,” Pete grumbled. “Myka will kill him when she finds out.”

“Forget Myka,” Claudia disagreed. “After what she told me about what she did to the guys who killed her daughter, I’m more worried about what _H.G._ will do to him.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

**October**

Two months later, Helena woke early, just as the sun was beginning to creep above the horizon. She was on her side, curled against Myka, who was lying on her stomach. She pressed her lips lightly to Myka’s shoulder. Sliding her hand up to wrap around Myka’s other shoulder, she settled closer, trying to lose herself in the warmth of Myka pressed against her. Trying to forget the dream she’d woken herself from. 

The images she saw were so disturbing, or, more the emotions she’d felt. Such hatred, such... enjoyment of the torment she was causing. It was a dream she was familiar with, she’d woken up from it numerous times since she had been released from the Bronze Sector. But recently, Myka had slipped into the dreams, always as a target for her own wicked amusement. She didn’t like the idea that, even in her dreams, she would ever want to cause Myka harm. If she had started out with a simple appreciation for the other woman’s intelligence and beauty, it had blossomed over the past months into something more. It was not time yet to put a name to it, but someday soon, it would be. It had been over a hundred years since she had felt a happiness like this. She couldn’t ruin it. 

She felt more than heard Myka draw in a deep breath, and grinned to herself. Her lover was waking up. She raised her hand slightly from Myka’s shoulder and trailed the tips of her fingers down Myka’s spine, watching the goose bumps form. Myka shivered and arched her back slightly, letting out a soft moan as Helena’s hand slid under the blanket and came to rest against the curve of her buttocks. The very tip of her middle finger pressed between Myka’s thighs and, at the first sensation of wetness, she pushed two fingers deep inside.

Myka turned her head so that she could face Helena, and Helena laughed to see her blinking rapidly, trying to wake up. When she felt Myka try to roll onto her side, she moved, settling so that she half-covered Myka’s body, pressing her into the mattress while keeping her fingers slowly moving in and out. She pressed her lips to Myka’s cheek and whispered, “I couldn’t help myself, you looked so beautiful, I just had to have you.”

She added a third finger, and Myka gasped, spreading her legs and pushing her hips back to meet Helena’s thrusts. It didn’t take long before Myka’s climax rolled over her, and she shuddered beneath her. Helena moved back to where she had started, pressed against Myka’s side, and when Myka finally turned to face her, pulled her into her arms. 

“Please don’t take this to mean that I’m complaining, but what brought that on?” Myka asked, her voice still rough with sleep. She wrapped her arm around Helena’s waist and shifted until she could rest her head just above Helena’s breast.

The memory of her dream flickered through her mind, and Helena held off answering as she pulled the quilt up so that it covered them more completely. “I woke up, saw the sunlight glinting off your skin, and was inspired,” she said finally, pressing a kiss to her hair.

“Mmm... Are you sure you weren’t a poet once?” 

Helena chuckled softly at the reminder of that long ago conversation. “Perhaps I was as that...”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Artie rarely stayed at Leena’s bed and breakfast. He had a room there, but he preferred to spend his time back at the Warehouse, monitoring for possible artifact sightings, cataloguing, and evaluating the potential agents whose files occasionally came across his desk. The files had been few and far between recently, and he had a feeling the Regents saw the two agents, one techno-wizard and the “other one” as more than enough to accomplish their mission. As technology had advanced, faster airplanes were built, the internet was invented and reinvented, the number of agents attached to the Warehouse dwindled, until for fifteen years it was only him. Occasionally Mrs. Frederic would come around, but most of their communication was via Farnsworth, and Leena only arrived about seven years before. 

He just preferred the Warehouse. He could trust the Warehouse, trust in its whims and fits, trust that he was making a difference there. He didn’t like change, and that was one thing he knew he had in common with Claudia. He could see the effect that the Wells woman’s presence was having, on all of them. Putting a stop to it, to whatever it was she was planning, was his primary focus now. He couldn’t rely on his agents to do what was needed to be done. At least, not Myka. She was in too deep. If nothing else, the video footage he had proved that much.

Two weeks after Claudia suggested that video cameras be his next move, a suggestion he knew she only meant in jest, he’d done it. He installed miniscule cameras, so tiny he’d needed a magnifying glass to ensure that they actually stuck to the wall, on the upstairs landing, facing Wells’ door. It could see that entire side, and the images rarely changed as the nights went on. On the nights where Myka went straight to her room after dinner, Wells would follow soon after. Sometimes they would arrive together. At first, she would only be there a couple of hours, eventually returning to her own room until the morning. There was a month there, where he’d hoped Myka had come to her senses, but it didn’t last, and soon, Wells was back to spending her evenings in the agent’s room. 

But things were different. She stayed the entire night, most nights, and there were quite a few where they would both retire to Wells’ room instead. He knew what that meant. He knew what they were doing. He couldn’t deny what he had been witnessing develop between them for months. His plan to win Myka away from her by trusting that Myka’s trust in _him_ would eventually bring her back, failed. He should have expected it to. It was her flaw. She needed that affirmation that she was doing the right thing. That she had a purpose; that her actions had an impact, and she’d found that place. And while it was at the Warehouse, it wasn’t with him.

He failed her. He knew she wouldn’t see it that way, but he failed her. And all he could do was take a step back, and watch as things spiraled slowly to the outcome that had to be inevitable. Things were going to fall apart, and there was nothing that he could do to stop it. He could see the pattern forming, had been since the first reports of the graduate students had reached him, but it was still so unclear.

If only he knew what she had planned. If only he had evidence, hard evidence, something even Myka in her love-addled haze would recognize. But there was nothing. The trails were hidden very well. But they had to be there. And he would find them. He just hoped that it would be in time. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Myka took the stairs up to the office two at a time, feeling oddly energetic for nearly eight o’clock at night. It had been a long day of inventory, and she’d spent the last four hours restocking what felt like a mile’s worth of shelves after one of Pete’s “accidents” with that damned dodge ball. Claudia and Helena had wisely stayed away from that part of the Warehouse, but that meant that Myka had not yet received her afternoon’s allotment of Helena’s company, and she missed her. The blinds were shuttered and the lights were off in the office, but it was possible that someone else was still there. 

She could hear the faint sound of rapid typing from halfway up the stairs. Not that Claudia’s presence was a bad thing, but hers was not the lovely face Myka hoped to see when she rounded the doorway.

“Hey, Claud, have you seen…” She stopped, baffled, as the occupant of the room lifted her head quizzically. “Helena?”

“Good evening, Darling,” Helena said cheerfully, ignoring the confusion in Myka’s voice.

“I didn’t think you were still here,” Myka replied absently, her pleasure at Helena’s unexpected appearance overruling her confusion. 

“Mrs. Frederic requested my assistance in organizing records from my time at Warehouse 12. Personnel files on the other agents apparently have become jumbled in the last hundred years, and as I knew them personally... It seemed a worthwhile endeavor while I waited for you.” She peered down once more at the keyboard Claudia called “old-fashioned but awesome,” pecking away slowly at the keys. “I believe I need more training on these computers of yours, however. I do miss my Remington, even though it did not hold all the world’s secrets in its depths.”

Myka grinned and shook her head, moving to stand behind Helena, her hands resting softly on her shoulders. When Helena glanced up at her, amusement in her eyes, Myka simply leaned down, wrapping her arms loosely around Helena’s neck and resting her chin on her hair. “It was sweet of you to wait,” she said softly. “You didn’t have to.”

Helena abandoned the keyboard and turned the chair around so that she faced Myka. Reaching a hand up to trace Myka’s cheek, she trailed a finger across her lips. “I wanted to. I missed you today.”

Myka blushed on cue, and they both laughed. “Do you need to stay? I can wait for you this time, if you need to finish this,” Myka offered.

“I do not. It was merely something to do, there is no need to rush it. I have plenty of time.”

Myka kissed her gently, and stepped away. “I’ll get your coat, then?”

Helena nodded. “I’ll be but a moment,” she said, standing. 

Two coats in hand, Myka joined her at the desk a moment later, just as Helena finished closing the last of the files she had open. Myka glimpsed what look like old Greek writing, or maybe Hebrew, in the open window on the screen, but before she could ask, Helena spoke absently, holding out her hand. 

“It’s more time consuming than I thought it would be. I mean, the agents I worked with are well known to your world, but not for anything that they did with the Warehouse. It is difficult to determine what to say about them, even for the brief summary of their character that Mrs. Frederic would like added to their files as I correct them.”

“What do you mean?” Myka asked, buttoning up her coat. 

“Oh, I don’t know… Professor Mendeleev, for example. A scandalous bastard, who even at his age had a roving eye. His science was fascinating, it’s true, and he was of great use acquiring artifacts that the Tsar wished to keep hold of, but I spent more time staying away from his hands than working with him. All you seem to know about him is his table of the chemical elements. Even now, though it’s been both three years and a hundred and three since I last saw him, the mere thought of his presence makes me feel ill.” 

Myka patted her sympathetically on the back, and then took her hand. “Well, think not of the past tonight. The only hands you should consider are mine, and I promise you will find them enjoyable.” 

It was perhaps the boldest thing she’d ever said, and part of her wanted to pull the words back in even as she said them. But Helena laughed, and tugged her to the door back to the world. “Let’s not keep them waiting, then?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

**November**

It was utter torture, Myka decided, watching Helena walk away from her in that… outfit. Those boots. Clearly, Claudia had decided to have fun one night; she vaguely recalled one of them, she couldn’t remember who now, debating a Lara Croft marathon a few weeks earlier. She’d begged off to finish a couple reports, but it was obvious who had taken part in it. She didn’t buy Helena’s oh-so-innocently-confused routine, not for a minute. She knew how Myka would react; Myka only hoped she didn’t get too damaged in the end. Though, knowing her lover, she would not object to a round of doctoring. She’d found that Helena had an even more vivid imagination than her novels implied, and that people had no idea what they were talking about when they said that the Victorians were all prudes. Clearly, they’d never known H.G. Wells.

If only they weren’t on the hunt for Warehouse 2. If only they didn’t have company. Touring Egypt was a dream of hers, and she knew that she would not have time on this trip any more than they had time on any others to explore. Maybe she could one day convince Artie that there was an artifact left inside the Great Pyramids, or perhaps in the Valley of the Kings. Or just put in leave papers and whisk Helena away for a romantic weekend. She hadn’t had a vacation in so long, and it would be nice to see the world outside of her Warehouse-colored glasses. Their room the night before had been lovely, a far cry from the desert sand dunes they were presently surrounded by, forty miles south of Alexandria. She wouldn’t mind returning someday, spending the days roaming the cities and the ruins, relishing in the night to make love and just be.

Valda showed no reaction when Helena walked up to him, although Pete couldn’t quite contain his look of appreciation. Myka rolled her eyes, tamping down the urge to elbow him in the ribs. She wasn’t jealous, not of Pete with his oh-wow-is-she-the-one relationship with Kelly. He’d obsessed over whether or not to tell Kelly during most of the plane ride, and Myka was grateful that she didn’t need to make that decision. Her one was there. It may only have been a few months, but she had a feeling that this was it. Nothing she could conceive of could be better than what she had with Helena. Well, not having to hide it from her colleagues would be a perk, but with Leena and her sight and Claudia and her nosiness and Pete being, well, Pete, it really was just a question of whether or not they’d figured it out on their own yet.

She and Helena kept their relationship to themselves, but she wouldn’t deny any kisses shared while doing inventory. They’d been close since Helena’s arrival, and anything they did do, any touches or comments they made in front of the others could not be differentiated from anything before. Perhaps the glances were a bit longer, a bit more powerful, but nothing else. They weren’t even really hiding it. Just keeping their private life private. Artie may have finally started to cool his displeasure, but Myka was certain he wouldn’t approve of their relationship.

But it didn’t matter. There were only two people who needed to approve. Helena had taught her that, with her patience, and her care. Her love.

With those thoughts in her head, she followed the group to the hidden entrance to Warehouse 2.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Something was wrong. Not only was Artie being _nice_ to her, praising her in ways he’d never done before, but something was wrong. Something was missing. The new red light was distracting her, keeping her from focusing on what Artie was telling her, and she knew that at any other time she’d be inordinately pleased by his compliments. But not today. There was something missing. Someone missing. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, and Artie wasn’t helping by evading her questions and handing her stacks of paperwork.

 _Why was that red light there?_ It was overshadowing everything else in the office, and she wanted it gone. Maybe Helena would know. Where was she?

As the thought ran through her head, the room started to fade, and she found herself standing on a floor that was collapsing around her. Her companions were staring off into the distance, not seeming to notice as the floor was disintegrating around them. In the end, it was easy to bring Pete back to reality. But Helena’s heart was breaking all over again. Myka knew, by the devastation on her face, that she had been with her daughter, and part of her could not forgive herself to tearing her away from that. Even though it would have ended in Helena’s death, she knew that there was one thing Helena wanted more than anything, and that was to be with Christina again. In the seconds before Helena realized what was going on, the bruising grip she had on Myka’s arm felt like a fitting punishment, and it was all Myka could do not to wrap the woman in her arms and never let her go.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

There were moments where you look back and wonder how you’d missed all the signs that pointed directly at that one instant where everything changed. They happened in that instant before the impact in a car accident. The split second before the bullet reached the skin. Somewhere in your life, everything leading to that singular moment was set in motion, the unstoppable force, with no immovable object to disrupt the flow. All the signs were there, all the turn-offs, the detours, bypassed because there was no way that you could possibly be wrong. No way that the choices you made were anything but the right ones. And then that moment comes, and you realize you had no idea just how blind you were.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The feeling of relief as they found the right keyhole and stopped the activation of Warehouse 2 made them giddy. Even the fear in Helena’s voice as she called them down to the lower level wasn’t enough to dampen their joy at their success. In truth, they barely noticed, talking over each other like school children as they made their way down, excitedly filling Helena in on everything she’d missed. They found her staring up at the orb, no sign of danger around her, and neither noticed the tension in her body. For a brief second Myka allowed herself to enjoy the sight of long bare legs and toned arms in front of her, her happiness at being alive and saving the day overriding that tiny sliver of concern that was lurking in the back of her mind when Helena didn’t turn immediately.

“I do hope you can forgive me,” she heard Helena say softly, her voice toneless.

She nearly took a step forward as she automatically asked “for what,” her brown eyes wide, but she froze her movements when Helena whipped around, a Tesla in hand. 

Their eyes met, and Myka saw nothing of the woman she thought she’d known in their dark depths. She mouthed Helena’s name, unable to speak, as the world slowed and Helena pulled the trigger.

“This.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The flights back home were spent in silence, at least on Myka’s part. Artie remained busy trying to track just where Helena was going next, and Pete kept him engaged enough that there was very little need for Myka’s involvement. If he noticed the tears that trickled down her cheeks unstopped, he pretended not to notice. He simply held her hand every once in a while, which seemed to calm her enough to sleep for a few hours here and there. He woke her up for meals, but otherwise she spent the nearly 30 hours of flight time facing the window, staring blankly out at the clouds.

After they’d escaped the collapsing Warehouse, and found Artie waiting for them in the desert, anger seemed to be the only thing that prevented Myka from falling apart. He could see the wildness in her eyes, the pain, as she forced herself to react as was expected. But later, after they returned to their hotel in Alexandria to retrieve their belongings, he’d found her simply sitting in the room that she had shared with Helena, staring at the wall. “She took everything with her,” she said in a quiet, monotone voice. “Everything of hers. She took nothing of mine, as far as I can tell.”

He knew that wasn’t true. She may not have taken any objects or money, but she quite handily stole something very important from his partner. Her faith, her trust. He could see it in her eyes, even as she tried to pull herself together. The damage was there, and irreparable. He walked to her and held out his hand, pulling her up from her seat. He debated his next action for the second it took for a lone tear to spill down her cheek, and pulled her to him in a tight hug. She clung to him, sobbing quietly into his shoulder, for several long minutes, before abruptly pulling away and walking into the bathroom. He busied himself doing one last search of the room while keeping one ear on the running water. When she walked out, eyes still red but looking more composed, he handed over her bag, and they left.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Later, Myka wouldn’t be able to explain how she felt in those minutes standing in front of H.G. Wells, pleading with her not to destroy the world. Putting a gun to her own head and pleading with her to kill her first, so that she wouldn’t be a witness to her crimes. Her world, her whole universe had shrunk, only filling the space between Helena’s finger and the trigger. Their eyes had locked, and for the first time since she’d solved the Medusa test in Warehouse 2, Myka could have sworn that she could see her Helena. Just for an instant, even as Helena started to squeeze the trigger, she was _there_ amongst all the hatred and bitterness and rage.

She didn’t know, until they’d returned to the Warehouse, that Claudia, Leena and Mrs. Frederic had watched the entire thing through a video camera Artie had hidden on his jacket. They had watched everything, heard everything, and when she’d stepped out of the car, Claudia practically flew out the door and hugged her so tightly that for a moment Myka couldn’t breathe. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to. She refused to watch as Mrs. Frederic and Adwin Kosan escorted the handcuffed and zip-tied woman into the warehouse. Instead, she made use of the time reassuring Claudia that she was, in fact, alive.

Myka refused to watch the interrogation. Pete went, and Artie, but she locked herself in her room to write up her report. Or, attempt to write it, anyway. She started and restarted several times, trying to write it objectively, but her mind could not get past the pain The gut-wrenching, heart-breaking betrayal she felt that had absolutely nothing to do with the Warehouse. With the possible destruction of the world. How could she possibly be praised, as she had been by Kosan twice already, when it was her actions, her assurances that allowed Helena access to Warehouse 13 in the first place. She’d been... enthralled by this woman, this brilliant, beautiful woman who was such a skillful liar that she had Myka believing that she was in love with her. That, despite her own misgivings and fears about being with a woman, made Myka love her in return. Put her reputation, her _life_ on the line, all so that she could take revenge on the world.

There was nothing that she could do. Every time she closed her eyes, she was standing there, inches from Helena, pressing the loaded weapon to her own head. She would have done anything to die right then. Anything but be a witness to Helena’s madness. Anything but be labeled a hero for somehow talking her down from whatever insanity was inside her. She wasn’t a hero. She hadn’t done her job. Doing her job would have been listening to Artie months earlier, not letting her get away in California. Not falling for the lies she hadn’t even known she wanted to hear.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Two days later, looking none the worse for wear, Helena was escorted under guard out of the Warehouse. Myka was there, as ordered, but she couldn’t watch. She ignored whatever jibe it was that Helena lobbed at Artie, and stared at the ground until the Suburban had long since disappeared into the hills. She could hear Kosan speaking to her, and somehow she made herself respond adequately, but as soon as she could she escaped back into the Warehouse, hiding once more amongst the shelves.

She was going to miss this place, she really was. As ridiculous as she had found the assignment originally, she really loved her work. She loved the people she worked with, she loved the adventure. She had no idea what she would do now. What ramifications would come from just... leaving. The manual never discussed the protocol for agents to leave their work at the Warehouse. It was like the Supreme Court, a job for life. 

The hardest thing was saying goodbye to Pete. It was the only goodbye she wanted to give in person (the required conversation with Mrs. Frederic didn’t count). He was her partner. Her friend. Even if he didn’t realize it was a goodbye, she couldn’t just walk away from him without a word. She was still baffled that he held nothing against her, not her poor judgment, not her misplaced loyalties. He’d trusted her over his vibes, and she knew she could never put him in that position again. He had nearly died two days ago because of that trust. 

It was cowardly, she was well aware of that, to simply leave a letter behind and disappear, but she couldn’t face them. Couldn’t face Artie with his ‘I told you so’ attitude that he hadn’t tried once to hide since his arrival in Egypt. Or Claudia with her need for reassurance that her family was still there, and the knowledge that it was all her fault that it was broken. Not any of them. It would give her time also to run back to the bed and breakfast, grab her packed bags and her ferret, and leave before anyone was able to come after her. She would call Claudia in a few days. She had no idea where she was going next, but there was no way that she could stay, not even for a few extra minutes. She had to leave, before her own demons crushed her.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From here on out, this story is completely AU from the Warehouse 13 timeline. Nothing from S3 or S4 has been included, as this story was finished before S3 began filming.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has read it, I hope that you continue to enjoy it!

It didn’t occur to Myka until she was six hours away from Univille that she had, in effect, stolen the car she was driving. That thought alone made her stop at the first hotel she found and rent a room for the night. She had finally settled on a direction, heading vaguely towards Denver, with the thought of maybe spending a few days at home. Or at least near home, as she felt nauseous every time she contemplated telling her parents she was getting a new job. Again. There would be too many questions that she didn’t want to answer, and hints that perhaps now was the time get married and lead a normal life, and there was no way that she could tell them that she didn’t want that life. No way for her to explain that she’d had the life she wanted. For three amazing months, she’d had a life with the woman she loved. She wasn’t running away from the work, away from the responsibilities; she was running from her heartbreak.

It would be nice to see the mountains again. Real mountains, not the desert ones she’d spent the last several years around. It was nearly December; she might spend a few weeks skiing in the Rockies, where there was still the hint of civilization within an hours’ drive of the slopes. Remind her self that there was more beauty in the world than just the soft curves of Helena’s body, the depths of her eyes. Remind herself that the world was still there, unaware of just how close it came to destruction. 

There was a small grocery store two blocks from her hotel, and she walked there to pick up dinner, and a box of poptarts. They weren’t much, but between them and coffee she could drive for days. Once she figured out what to do about the car, anyway. In the morning she would look for a used car lot. She just needed something to ultimately get her to D.C., where she could get her own car out of… wherever the Warehouse had decided to store it. Damnit, she was going to have to contact the Warehouse before she was ready. Maybe she would get lucky and only speak to Leena, who was sure not to question her. But she doubted it. She just didn’t have that kind of luck.

The small garden salad and BLT sandwich that she bought weren’t much of a dinner, but she didn’t feel like any more. She didn’t need to worry about it cooling on the walk back, which was the more important part, and in all honesty she didn’t deserve a hot meal anyway. She walked around to the back of the hotel and went in the far entrance, climbing the stairs up to her room tiredly. There didn’t seem to be many other people staying there that night, the halls were silent, and she was fairly certain the concierge had been playing some stupid game on Facebook before she checked in. The lock blinked green as she pushed in her key card, and she walked inside, tossing the bag and her purse onto the bed and doubling back to the bathroom.

Something felt different when she opened the bathroom door a few minutes later, and she rested one hand on her gun as she silently reached for the light switch. She couldn’t see anything in the faint moonlight through the window, but she knew something had changed. She turned the light on, and somehow managed to both relax and tense up at the sight of Mrs. Frederic seated on the edge of her bed and her new bodyguard standing a few feet away, as stoic as the last one had been.

“Mrs. Frederic,” she greeted dumbly.

“It’s good to see that you are well, Agent Bering.”

“I… uhh…” Myka’s gaze flickered to the window and back. “I’m sorry about the car. I didn’t even think about it until right before I stopped here for the night.”

Mrs. Frederic waved her hand. “Do not worry about it. Have you decided where you will go from here?”

“Not… not really. I was thinking home, for a few days, but after that, I don’t really know what I can do. I don’t imagine simply leaving the Warehouse will look good on my record.” There was a question in her voice, but Myka did not want to appear to be pleading.

“In two days, you will receive your new assignment. Arrangements are being made, you will be met in Denver with your orders, and you will have the standard thirty days time to complete your transfer. At that time, this vehicle will be reclaimed, and your own will be returned to you.”

Oh. That was fast. They really didn’t waste any time. Her surprise must have been visible, because Mrs. Frederic continued. 

“It does not happen often, but through the years agents have requested to leave the Warehouse. Protocols are in place for their return to their previous professions. Contrary to Agent Lattimer’s theories, we do not keep those agents locked away or leave them to flounder. It would be a security risk to the Warehouse.”

“That’s it? I nearly cause a new ice age and quit without so much as a two-weeks’ notice, and you’re letting me steal a car and getting me a new job?”

“Would you rather be bronzed and placed in the…?” Mrs. Frederic asked, an eyebrow raised.

“No, no, a new assignment is good,” Myka interrupted quickly. 

“I thought as much. However, should an artifact bring us to your location, wherever you end up, I do ask that you make yourself available as a liaison.”

“Of course.” Liaison. She could do that. As long as it didn’t happen often. 

Mrs. Frederic gave a short nod. “Have a good night, Agent Bering. And, good luck.”

Myka followed them to the door. “Good night, Mrs. Frederic. And… I’m sorry. For everything.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Two days later, she woke to a knocking on her door, and when she opened it, the manager of the hotel was awkwardly standing there. “Telegram for you, Ma’am,” he said, handing over what was indeed a telegram.

“Uhh... Thank you,” she replied, taking it from him gingerly. She shut the door, and read it carefully.

TO MYKA BERING  
YOUR PRESENCE IS REQUESTED 7349 E 49TH AVE STOP 1153 AM STOP MOTOR VEHICLE REQUIRED STOP

She could honestly say she had never received a telegram before. She didn’t even know if telegraphs were still used in Colorado, or anywhere. Leave it to the Warehouse to still use them, somehow, alongside the Farnsworths and the Teslas. Although, that actually made sense, now that her brain was starting to kick in. She needed coffee, and soon.

At the appointed time, she parked her car in the parking lot of Macy’s and got out, looking around. The lot was about half full, and she couldn’t see her car anywhere. 

“Agent Bering?”

She spun around at the voice. She hadn’t heard anyone pull up behind her, but there was her car, and a scruffy man in his thirties.

“Yes?”

He held a plain manila envelope. “Do you have anything in the vehicle that you want to keep?”

She took it from him, shaking her head. All that was there was her Starbucks cup. “No, nothing.” She’d left everything else at the hotel.

“Your keys are in the ignition. Have a good day, Agent Bering.”

She handed him the keys to the Suburban and watched until he drove out of the parking lot. This was it. She was done now. No more Warehouse. She looked down at the envelope, and was surprised to find her hands shaking. She started to open it, and then stopped. She could wait until she returned to the hotel. Just a little bit longer. Let the illusion stay.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

**December**

Helena smirked at her interrogators, resting her chained hands casually on the table in front of her. Every day was the same in this place, only the interrogators changed. They asked the same questions, made the same threats, and never seemed concerned at her silence. They thought they could break her through isolation if the threat of pain didn’t work, she believed. Why they thought the solitude, the quiet would affect her after 106 years encased in bronze, she found rather amusing. She was used to it. She found it comforting. She’d even missed it on occasion the last eight months, and relished in it now. What _would_ her captors think to know they were actually helping her enjoy her captivity.

She spent hours every day at this table, just smirking at them silently with every question. There was an answer to everything they asked, had she cared to answer. She did contemplate it from time to time, to break up the monotony. Yes, she had an accomplice. Yes, she took more from Warehouse 2 than just the trident. No, Myka Bering had not been involved in her plans. If they were looking closely enough, they might have seen that the only time she reacted was in response to her name. She couldn’t help it, despite God only knew how much time she spent schooling her features to not respond. She would always involuntarily drop the smirking, self-assured facade just for an instant, even less, when Myka’s name was mentioned. Not that it mattered. The woman couldn’t be used against her in any way.

If only they could read her mind. If only they knew that she would be gone the next morning when they came to take her from her cell. The Regents weren’t as smart as they liked to think of themselves, nor were their hirelings as... loyal as they thought. Helena had had her escape plotted down to the hour even before she had left Warehouse 13 in their custody. It wasn’t difficult, when one of those charged with holding her captive those first days had been the one to help set her escape into motion. Oh, how she was looking forward to... dispatching with him. It was the first thing on her list. She would enjoy it. After all, she worked alone.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Early the next morning, she found her cell door unlocked as planned, and slipped down the hall. The storage room with her belongings was just around the corner; everything they had taken from her was there. She changed quickly out of the institutional clothing they had given her and back into her own, laughing to herself as she identified the scent of fabric softener. How nice, they had done her laundry for her. There was little else that she took; she had no need for the money or the ID. Just the locket. She would not be separated from her Christina again.

And then she left, walking out the front door, passed the armed guards who paid her no mind, and vanished into the night.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It didn’t take Myka as long as she’d feared to get settled in Baltimore. She signed a lease for a small townhouse near Towson within days. Her belongings, with the exception of what was still in South Dakota, arrived later that day, despite no prior arrangements having been made. Five days after receiving her orders, she’d begun the long drive across the country. She contacted her new supervisor the day before her arrival, sometime around Columbus. Evading his questions about the abruptness of her transfer, she arranged to report a week from the following Monday, which gave her a good ten more days.

She would be working on the Maryland Anti-Counterfeiting Task Force. It had been a long time since she’d done anti-counterfeiting work. Her first years as an agent had been primarily spent working in the fraud division, though there had been some work with the Treasury while she was in Denver. She’d been relocated to D.C. for protective detail just over a year before she was sent to the Warehouse. Three years was a long time to be away from the counterfeiting world; she anticipated needing to catch up on a lot of things. She did remember that it was interesting, very detail oriented which she excelled at. But her bar for what counted as “interesting” had been raised to new levels in the last two years. It was going to be a change.

She stopped shelving books at that thought and shook her head. “Stop thinking about it,” she ordered herself harshly. It was futile, she knew, but she had to try. Not an hour went by where she wasn’t thinking about the Warehouse, about... about Helena. She still appeared in her dreams, her beautiful smile, her guileless eyes. It was all there, and then she would wake and remember the pain of her betrayal. Her own guilt. All this time by herself wasn’t good for her, and she seriously debated showing up early, just to get away from the silence that suffocated her.

She knew she ought to call Pete, or Claudia, just to let them know that she was ok. Myka had no idea, didn’t ask, what else Mrs. Frederic may have told them when she passed on her letter. On the drive to Maryland, she had ignored all phone calls, to the point of turning off her cellphone for two days straight. Even now, Claudia was texting her about once an hour, and though she had moved on from asking if she was okay to talking (in general) about how things were going at the Warehouse, Myka couldn’t bring herself to respond. Everything hurt too much still. The first days after, she had felt numb, but the pain eventually set in and only grew with time. It had to stop eventually.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Helena shook her head, amused, as she shut the door behind her. She had no doubt that Regent security would be there shortly; her accomplice had already received five phone calls that went unanswered within three hours of her escape. Unanswered, of course, because he was unconscious and tied up in the closet of the roadside motel they’d agreed to meet in. How he’d truly believed that she would bring him with her, she would never understand. Men really did not change, no matter what century they were in. All she had to do with make promises she never intended to keep, of money and pleasure, and he was putty in her hands. Really, one would think the Regents would better select their employees. They’d only had several thousand years of experience in the matter.

She had no need of a partner. At least, not of the male persuasion, not one so willing to betray those who trusted him. She was well aware of the irony, but she did not care. She had her own plans, her own… target. She didn’t care about the artifacts, about the chase. There was a new hunt, one she fully planned to enjoy.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Things changed, and they didn’t, after Myka left. Pete still left to track down artifacts, though about half the time Claudia came with him. There was inventory; there was always inventory, on days when they were there. A week after she left, they returned to Leena’s for dinner late one evening. Claudia, who had taken to spending hours in Myka’s room missing her, found all of her things were gone, and the room looked ready for a new occupant. Leena quietly confirmed that everything had been packed up and taken away that day. Claudia skipped dinner and spent the night crying in her room.

What little Helena had left behind was gone the next day.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

**February 2011**

Three months later almost to the day, Artie sent them to Baltimore to track down what he thought was the first of the 1895 Morgan Dollar coins to be struck. The first coin had been presented to William Jennings Bryan by the Secretary of the Treasury in recognition of his support of the silver standard. There had been a rash of unrelated incidents in Baltimore over the course of two weeks, where people would stop in the middle of the street, giving enthralling speeches about any conceivable topic. Four people so far had been run down by cars and one by the light rail as they leaped out into traffic with no provocation. It was noted somewhere in the Warehouse manual that the coin was believed to have been imbued with William Bryan’s public speaking skills while he was campaigning for the 1896 Presidential election, and caused any who handled it to become great orators, if only for a moment. The coin had been on display in the Treasury Collection until it vanished one month earlier in a theft that was being kept off the radar. 

“I don’t understand,” Claudia said, as Pete showed his ID to the card and drove the rental into the parking garage of the Secret Service’s Baltimore field office. “We’re tracking down a coin, why did Artie set us up with the Secret Service?”

Pete laughed, and pulled into a guest spot on the second level. “The Secret Service isn’t just about protecting the President and hunting down artifacts, Claud. They do fraud investigations, track counterfeiters, work with the Treasury Department. Since we’re looking for a coin, we may need the Treasury Department, especially seeing as it was stolen from them in the first place. This is the easy route; we could have had to deal with them directly.” He shuddered at the thought.

Claudia got out of the car, tugging at her shirt. She had on a button down shirt and nice trousers, and she was very uncomfortable. She missed her jeans, but as this was her first assignment dealing with agents outside of the Warehouse and not just local police, she wanted to make a good impression. Or at least, not look completely like the twenty-one year old that she was.

Just before they reached the entrance, she grabbed Pete’s arm. “I look ok? Not, like, a college dropout?”

Pete laughed and swung his arm over her shoulder, hugging her to him. “You look fine, Claudia. And you’re with me, I make anyone look good.”

She shoved him away. “Oh, hey. Shouldn’t I have a badge or something?”

He rolled his eyes, and held open the door, nodding at the guard standing on the other side. “No, now come on.”

It took about fifteen minutes to get through security, escort badge pinned to Claudia’s collar. There was an agent waiting for them on the other side. 

“Agent Lattimer?” the man asked, stopping in their way to the elevator.

“That’s me,” Pete replied, coming to a halt.

“Matthew Dalton, Assistant Agent in Charge of this field office.”

Pete shook his hand. “Nice to meet you. This is Claudia Donovan, my assistant.”

Claudia opened her mouth to object to that, but Pete accidentally elbowed her on purpose, and she decided against that action. “Nice to meet you, sir,” she said meekly instead. She was going to get Pete for that. It would involve something slimy.

“If you will come with me, I’ll introduce you to the agent who will be assisting you as required.”

It was a quiet elevator ride up to the fourth floor. As the doors opened, however, Dalton turned to Pete and asked, “I don’t really understand what it is you’re doing here. What is it that you are looking for here in Baltimore?”

Claudia didn’t pay attention to Pete’s response; she was too busy freaking out. Ten feet away from them, she recognized the hairstyle, the posture. The suit jacket, the one that she secretly coveted when she contemplated growing up. “Myka,” she whispered, loud enough to catch Pete’s attention but not loud enough for him to quite hear what she said.

She suddenly didn’t care what it looked like, or that she probably shouldn’t be leaving Pete’s side in a room full of people trained to shoot first and ask questions later. She took off running, and said Myka’s name loud enough to draw her attention away from the printer she was standing in front of. She vaguely heard her name behind her, but she ignored it, just as she ignored the looks from the ten other people in the room. The focus of her attention turned at the sound of her name, and her eyes widened in surprise and recognition just before Claudia bounded into her, wrapping her arms around her.

“ _Claudia_?” Myka’s arms automatically closed around her, and Claudia was embarrassed to find that she’d started crying, at least enough that a few tears had soaked into Myka’s shoulder. After too short a moment, she felt Myka’s hands move to her shoulders and push her back gently. “What are you doing here?”

Claudia swiped a hand under her eyes, but before she could say anything, another voice interjected.

“Hi, Myka.” Pete’s voice was quiet, even in the dead silence of the room where they had the avid attention of everyone else. 

“Pete.” She saw her current boss standing behind her former partner. “What are you guys doing in Baltimore?”

Before either Pete or Claudia could answer, Dalton stepped forward, stopping beside Pete, an odd look on his face. “I guess this saves me the trouble of introducing you, Agent Bering.”

“Sir?”

“I received a phone call yesterday requesting a liaison with Treasury for two agents coming out for an investigation, into what, no one has told me.” Claudia was amused by the disgruntled glare he shot Pete, but bit back her grin. Dalton continued, “Since you are still working with the BEP, I figured you would be a good place to start.” 

“Yes, sir. I would be happy to, sir.”

Claudia could hear the small note of uncertainty in Myka’s voice, and shivered. She didn’t want their reunion to be a bad thing! Myka was supposed to be happy to see them, especially since it was as much a surprise to them as it was to her. She tightened her hold on Myka’s arm, not wanting to give the woman any chance to slip away again without saying good-bye. Again.

“Well then. Keep me informed, Agent Bering. If there is any other assistance we can provide, let me know.”

He walked away, into an open office. Claudia watched him sit down and start shuffling papers around his desk. His eyes remained locked on them, however, though pretty much everyone else had returned to what they had been doing before their arrival.

“There’s a conference room upstairs, it should be empty. Why don’t we head up there,” Myka suggested, gently pulling her arm away from Claudia’s grasp. “I’ll meet you at the elevator in a moment.” Without another word, Myka walked away, and Claudia tracked her progress to a desk about fifteen feet away.

“Come on,” Pete sighed, patting her on the shoulder.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The room was indeed empty, and Myka hated herself for wishing that it hadn’t been, so that she could put off this conversation as long as possible. Despite her promise to Mrs. Frederic, she never really expected to see anyone from the Warehouse again. Maybe they would have come to Baltimore for some artifact or other, but that they would need to see the Secret Service about it? It had seemed so unlikely. And yet, here they were, not even four months later.

She shut the door behind her as she followed them into the room. Claudia looked like she wanted to hug her again, while Pete just stared at her, his expression inscrutable. “Hi,” she finally said, awkwardly. “What brings you to Baltimore?”

“You’ve seen the news about people deciding that the middle of rush hour traffic is a great time to make speech?” Pete asked, shoving his hands in his pockets.

She nodded. It sounded vaguely familiar. 

“Artie thinks an artifact is involved. So here we are, doing what we do.”

Ok, so, Pete was angry with her. That much was obvious. She ducked her head, looking down at her crossed arms. “Well,” she started finally, “I don’t know what I can do to help, but I promised Mrs. Frederic I would if you ever had a mission where I was assigned. Claudia has my cell phone number...”

“Wait, you got my messages?” Claudia interrupted. “Why didn’t you ever respond? I couldn’t trace the number after you left South Dakota, it’s been driving me crazy, not knowing where you were!”

“Mrs. Frederic asked you for help?” Pete asked, ignoring Claudia, and Myka was glad for the distraction. 

“The night I left. She came to my hotel room and told me that my new orders would be waiting for me two days later. She asked that if you or... any other Warehouse agents ever needed anything, that I do what I could.” She shrugged self-consciously. “It wasn’t much to ask. If you need anything. Any information, or contacts. If it is allowed. I don’t really know if it would be.” She was rambling, again. She bit at her lip to keep herself from saying anything else.

“I’ll talk to Artie, see what he says. I don’t know if he even knows you’re working here, he didn’t say anything about it.”

Myka relaxed. Pete didn’t look as tense as he did a moment earlier. “Ok. Well, if there is anything I can do. Matt said you needed the BEP?” She caught Claudia silently repeating the acronym, and hesitated. 

Pete just shook his head. “Not yet.”

“What’s the BEP?” Claudia interjected

“Bureau of Engraving and Printing. They make money,” Pete replied. “What we need to do right now is get the incident reports from the Baltimore PD, and we’ll have to go down to D.C. and speak with the curator at Treasury. I don’t think we’ll make that today, I don’t really want to fight Beltway traffic.”

“I can set that up for you, if you want. I’m working with one of their inspectors; it’ll save you some of the run around since you aren’t based out of a local field office.” That was something useful that she could do, at any rate. Even if Artie didn’t want anything from her on the case, she could at least ease the way.

“That would be great, actually.”

That was that, then. All three of them knew there was more that needed to be said; Claudia was practically bouncing in her shoes, but it wasn’t the time. It most definitely wasn’t the place, and there wasn’t enough alcohol in the near vicinity to make it effective. 

“Alright, then. I’ll call you once I find out a time. Where are you staying?”

“The Hilton down by the stadium. Not far from three of the locations, at least.”

Myka nodded. “Ok.” She reached for the door knob, and turned it slowly. “It’s good to see you again,” she said softly. “Both of you,” she added, smiling slightly at Claudia.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Claudia managed to last until they were sitting in the car again, but not a moment longer. “Why couldn’t we stay and talk to Myka more? She never answered my questions!” Her mind was still spinning over the fact that Myka was _there_ , and that she didn’t appear all that pleased to see them. It hurt, a lot. The worry that Claudia had been living with since the day Myka’s phone went untraceable was giving way to the anger at her leaving without saying good-bye that she’d been burying for months.

“It wasn’t the right time, Claudia,” she heard Pete say with a sigh.

She just shrugged in response, staring out the window. 

“We won’t leave without talking to her, if we have to kidnap her for a day, I promise. Scouts honor.” 

She finally looked at him, realizing he looked as confused as she felt. “Ok. I can do that,” she mumbled, bringing her feet up to rest on the dashboard.

“Hey,” Pete started, putting his hand on her knee. “You know how Myka is, she hates not being prepared for something. She wasn’t expecting to see us anymore that we expected to see her. She needs time to process this. The middle of her office really wasn’t the best place to do that.”

Ok, so the guy had a point there. She inhaled harshly, and dug in her pocket for her   
phone. She tapped out a message on it, and then tucked it away again. “Ok. Then, what do we do now?”

Pete already had the Farnsworth in his hand. “Call Artie,” he said, distracted, as he turned on the device.

“Have you talked to the police yet?” Artie asked without preamble, and Claudia snorted. Typical Artie, could care less about the normal pleasantries of human conversation. No wonder he and Vanessa still hadn’t moved beyond that walk in the park or whatever it was.

“Not yet, we just checked in with the Secret Service office here. The agent they’ve assigned has offered any assistance we need. I’m thinking we should take them up on it.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve discussed Warehouse business with outsiders! Pete, seriously, how many times...”

“It’s Myka, Artie,” Claudia chimed in, scooting over in her seat so that she could be seen on the monitor. “She’s here...”

“And her boss assigned her to help before we even got here,” Pete finished for her, nudging her with his elbow. 

“Oh.” Artie was quiet for a moment, and Claudia realized that he had not known where she was either. “Well... I’ll have to talk to Mrs. Frederic about this...”

“I don’t think she’ll have a problem with it.”

“And what makes you the expert on what Mrs. Frederic thinks?” Ahh, there was the Artie she knew. 

“Well, considering she let Myka leave the Warehouse with only a request that she help us out if an artifact turned up where she was, I have the strangest feeling the answer will be yes.”

Artie looked from her to Pete. “I’ll talk to her. I was not aware of any such... arrangement with Agent Bering. Do not give her any details about this case until you hear from me, do you understand?” 

“Got it, Artie,” Pete replied, as Claudia gave a mocking salute. 

The screen went blank, and they sat there for a moment in silence before Pete inserted the keys and started the car.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Two days later, they’d narrowed down the timeline for the coin. The first person to be caught in its thrall confessed to taking part in the theft at the Treasury. He gave up his conspirators as soon as he was faced with a federal burglary charge, and swore up and down that the only thing he kept from the theft was the silver dollar and two old fashioned coin purses. A search of the terrified man’s home recovered the purses, and he admitted to losing the coin in the confusion as someone pulled him out of the way of a speeding cab. The same story, minus the theft, came from the next two people, and since the next five had died untimely deaths, they could only assume they would have heard something very similar.

Artie had begrudgingly passed on that yes, Mrs. Frederic confirmed that they were allowed to use any help Myka provided them, and yes, if they needed or wanted greater involvement from her, it was authorized. They took him at his word, and while Myka was busy with her work on the task force, she was able to get them a meeting with the Curator and made herself available in the afternoon and evenings to go over the information they gathered. There had been no further incidences of out of the blue speech-making since they arrived, so it was a matter of trying to track down where the coin might have gone next. 

It was Claudia’s suggestion that they check the personal property of the last man who died, thinking that perhaps he hadn’t lost the coin. It was a good idea, and while the personal effects had been collected by the man’s family, the inventory did list a silver dollar from the man’s coat pocket. Their attempts to contact the family of William Santiago were unsuccessful for those first two days, which was understandable. On the third day, Pete asked Myka to accompany them, as two Secret Service agents needing to search the dead man’s home might go over a little bit easier than just Pete and a young woman. 

The teenaged girl who answered the door just looked at them with red rimmed eyes and let them in. They stood awkwardly in the entry way while she went off to find her mother. When the woman came in, she did not look thrilled to see them standing there.

“This really is not a good time to be soliciting.”

Pete and Myka shared a glance. “Mrs. Santiago, I apologize for intruding, but we are here regarding your husband’s death. I’m Agent Bering, this is Agent Lattimer, we’re with the Secret Service.”

The woman turned her glare on her. “I don’t understand. The police already finished their investigation, said it was ‘negligence’ on my husband’s part. What could the Secret Service possibly have to do with him? He was a teacher!”

“Ma’am, we think he may have been in possession of something when he died, something connected to what happened. We need to see his effects that were returned to you yesterday.”

Mrs. Santiago straightened up, indignant. “My husband was not a thief! How dare you...”

Pete interjected, trying to calm things down. “We aren’t saying that, ma’am. It may have been something he was given, or something he simply found. If we could just see what you were given, we’ll only be a few minutes, and then we will be on our way.”

Her glare softened slightly, and Myka looked away to avoid rolling her eyes. It wasn’t like Pete was being particularly charming anyway.

“I promise, it won’t be long,” Pete reiterated.

“Alright, fine,” Mrs. Santiago relented, and turned away, leading them into the back of the house. “I didn’t know what to do with it, so I just left it in the bag they gave me and put it in his dresser.”

In the bedroom, she opened a drawer and pulled out a half full paper bag and stared at it. Carrying it to the bed, she set it down carefully, and looked at it. Myka glanced back at Claudia, who had been trying to fade into the background ever since they entered the house, and jerked her head towards the wife.

Thankfully, Claudia caught on quickly, and after biting at her lip and straightening her shirt, she went up to Mrs. Santiago and laid her hand on her arm. “Ma’am, why don’t we go back to the kitchen, get you something to drink. This won’t take more than a minute or two.”

She looked suspiciously at Pete and Myka, who had not made a move towards the bed, and then nodded. “Alright. But, you take nothing without my permission, you understand?”

Myka nodded, hoping she could pull on a meek expression. As soon as Claudia and Mrs. Santiago left the room, she went to the bed and dumped out the bag. There were the expected torn and bloody clothing, already stiffened from two days of dried blood pooled on them. In several ziplocked evidence bags were the wallet, an old fashioned handkerchief, a watch, a wedding band, and a handful of coins. And there it was, the silver dollar. 

With Pete as the lookout, she slipped on a pair of purple gloves and unzipped the coin bag. Withdrawing the silver dollar, she handed it to Pete and murmured, “Take it into the bathroom and see if it gets neutralized. If she comes in, I’ll just tell her you needed to use it.”

Pete gave her one “why me?” look and followed her order. A moment later, she heard the faint popping and sizzling sound that accompanied the artifact neutralizations, and she returned the rest of the items to the paper bag. The toilet flushed and the sink ran for several long seconds, and then Pete joined her, tapping once on his jacket pocket. 

They left the bedroom and found Claudia and Mrs. Santiago walking back down the hall towards them. “We’re done, ma’am. We’ll be going now.”

“Did you find what you were looking for?”

“No, we didn’t. I apologize for intruding, and we are very sorry for your loss.”

In the car, Claudia leaned between the front seats as Pete started the car. “So, did you find it?”

Pete nodded, and pulled it out of his pocket. “Yup. Call Artie and let him know?”

“Sure thing, dude.” 

Myka watched her reflection in the windshield, a sad smile on her face.

As Claudia dug the Farnsworth out of her bag, she commented, “This was pretty easy, huh? No swords, no spontaneous combustion...”

“Yeah,” Myka whispered, looking out the window. For a few minutes it felt like she’d never left. It was so easy to fall back into working with Pete, being sneaky when it came to artifacts. That small thrill she felt every time they found what they were looking for. Sitting here, as Pete drove back towards her office, she found herself wishing that they’d never come to Baltimore, that she hadn’t had to do this. It was going to be that much harder when they left her behind, though there did seem to be a certain justice in that. Maybe this was her punishment.

She didn’t pay attention to the conversation going on in the back seat, or the way Pete kept looking over at her whenever they were stopped at a stoplight. There was no point.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Three hours later, having been dropped off at her office and reporting to her boss in the vaguest terms possible that Pete and Claudia were done and were no longer requiring her services, Myka was done for the day. Sitting in her car, the engine idling, she listened to the voice mail that she’d ignored earlier when Pete called her.

“ _Hey Myka. We aren’t leaving until tomorrow morning. Why don’t you come by the hotel for dinner, we can catch up. Claudia misses you. 6 o’clock? Bye._ ”

She looked at her watch; just after four. She sighed. It wasn’t so much an invitation to dinner as a cleverly disguised warning that if she didn’t show up for dinner, he was going to come kick her ass. He was just playing dirty, bringing up Claudia like that. If only he didn’t know her so well.

She had enough time to go home, sit down for five minutes, and then get up and head back into the city, or she could just bite the bullet and go to the hotel early. Maybe that way they could get the conversation over with, and dinner might be a more pleasant affair. Not that she had any idea what to say for herself. She really had no excuse for running off like she did, not bothering to say goodbye or let them know she was alright, no matter how many times she promised herself that she would. It just got easier as time went on to say nothing. She was a coward.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The Hilton had a reputation for maintaining their clients’ privacy, and Myka gave them mental points for refusing to give her Pete’s room number until she pulled her badge. Declining the concierge’s offer to call the room for her, she took the elevator up to the seventh floor and all too soon found herself standing outside his room. Through the door she could hear the faint sounds of the television. Fed up with her own fear, after all, this was Pete, not Artie, she finally knocked on the door.

The door opened, and Pete did not seem all that surprised to see her there so early. 

“I hope it’s ok that I’m early... It was easier than going home first. You know how traffic is around here.”

Pete just shrugged and stepped back to let her in. “That’s fine. We haven’t really been doing anything. Claud’s in her room, doing whatever on her computer.” He gestured at the connecting door a few feet away.

“I’ll... just go say hi.”

“Ok.”

Fully aware of Pete’s eyes on her back, she knocked softly on the connecting door, opening it when she heard what sounded like a “come in” from the other side. Claudia was sitting cross-legged on the bed, ear phones in her ears, and didn’t look over as she walked in. Myka’s last sight of Pete as she closed the door behind her was of him seated once more on his bed, remote control in hand.

She sat down on the bed a few feet away from the techno-geek and waited patiently for Claudia to finish whatever it was she was doing. The ignoring felt intentional, and she endured it without complaint.

A few minutes later, Claudia finished typing, closed the window of what she was working on, and set the laptop aside. She was a bit slower in turning off her iPod and wrapping up the earphones, but eventually she turned around so that she was facing Myka, and pulled one of the pillows to her chest. “So you’re coming to dinner with us?” she asked, ignoring Myka’s softly spoken greeting.

“Yeah. I wanted to see you guys before you left. Say good-bye.”

“Like you didn’t before? That was really lame, Myka, writing a stupid letter for Mrs. Frederic to read.”

Myka knew she had a point, but it still hurt. The letter hadn’t felt stupid to write, she’d meant everything she wrote. But it was cowardly. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I should have stayed, at least said good-bye in person, but I couldn’t. I just... I couldn’t face you, any of you, after what I did.” She looking down at the comforter, and trailed her fingernail lightly over the embroidered design. 

“But you didn’t do anything, except stop her! No one else could have gotten her to put down the trident, but you did. You saved the world, Myka. You have nothing to apologize for!”

“She never would have had the opportunity to get the trident if it weren’t for me, Claudia. My report helped convince the Regents to give her a chance. I didn’t listen to Artie, I was so sure that I was right, and because of that she almost caused an ice age. My pride... my presumption, put all of you, everyone, in jeopardy. Once I decided to leave, really decided, if I saw you I would have changed my mind.”

“Would that really have been a bad thing? We miss you! It hasn’t been the same since you left.”

“Claudia...” She wanted to tell her. Wanted to tell _someone_ the whole truth, that being there reminded her of everything she’d lost. Not just her faith in herself, but the future she imagined with Helena, the trust her teammates had in her, her soul. It was on the tip of her tongue, ready to be put out there, and she could see the expectation in Claudia’s face. But she couldn’t do it. 

“I had to leave. For me. It had nothing to do with you, or Pete. Believe me, I wanted to stay, but I can’t trust myself, my own judgment. If I can’t do that, then I am just putting everyone around me in danger. More danger than the Warehouse normally sees.”

It was obvious that Claudia didn’t care for that explanation, but all she was grumble to herself and pick at the pillowcase. “Why didn’t you at least send me back a text message? It’s been months, you could have been dead!” 

There were tears in her voice, and Myka gave up giving Claudia her space, moving to where Claudia was sitting and wrapping her arms around her. “I wanted to. I nearly did a hundred times. But every time I tried, I had no idea what to say to you, because I knew you would have questions and I didn’t know how to answer them, and then as the weeks past, it felt too late to try and say anything back. But I loved hearing from you. I check my phone constantly to see if you have sent me anything.”

Claudia leaned against her shoulder, so unlike her usual energetic self. Myka had forgotten that Claudia had severe abandonment issues, stemming from her brother and Artie both disappearing for years. She seemed so well adjusted most of the time, or as well-adjusted as one could be spending her college years working in a top-secret facility. It was hard to remember that in reality she was just barely too old to be a kid, and had spent much of her young life without a family. Where Pete may understand her reasons, even agree with some of them, she couldn’t very well expect the same from someone watching her family get ripped apart yet again.

“I promise I’ll stay in touch with you this time. I know it’s not the same, but... It’s the best I can do. You won’t lose me again,” she swore quietly, pressing a kiss to the top of Claudia’s head. 

“You better,” Claudia muttered, relaxing against her side. “I still have those supercharged handcuffs. And, you know, other stuff. I know where you are now.”

Her words reminded Myka of something that she’d put on the back burner the day they arrived. “You couldn’t track my phone?”

“Nope. I could trace it until you left South Dakota, but nothing since then. The only reason I thought you still had the same one is none of my texts bounced back.”

“That’s really weird. I didn’t change it, it’s the same one I’ve had since I was in D.C.”

“I can look at it if you want. See if something broke, or a setting got changed and you didn’t realize it. Shit like that happens all the time.”

Normally, Myka wouldn’t dare turn over electronics to Claudia, for fear of getting them back so modified that she would need a new manual to figure out how to use them. But, if this was what Claudia needed, this she could do. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and handed it over. “How’s everything back... there?” she asked as Claudia turned the device over and pulled off the battery cover.

In what felt like seconds, her phone was in pieces on top of Claudia’s notebook and she tried not to wince as the young woman pulled out a magnifying glass and a small tool set.

“It’s good, I guess. Leena’s taking a vacation. Apparently she’s never been on one before, and she decided she wanted to go to Aruba for a week. She should be home on Sunday, thankfully. This was a good week to go out of town, because Artie can’t cook to save his life if he’s not making cookies, as we found out.”

“Oh. Well, that’s nice,” Myka said absently, her eyes narrowing at the distracted noise Claudia made as she took a pair of tweezers to what looked like the motherboard.

“Yeah. I think this is it. Looks like a transmitter connected to the phone’s GPS, but it’s a redundant one.” Claudia held out the motherboard for Myka to examine. “It was rerouting from the one already installed. Weird.”

“I guess.”

“Maybe something the Secret Service did after you got the phone?”

“Maybe, I don’t know. Do you think that will fix it?”

“Possible. I’ll check in a minute.” 

Myka watched as her phone was reassembled, looking none the worse for wear. After it restarted, Claudia reopened her computer and started typing, grinning after a moment. 

“It worked!” She turned her laptop around so that Myka could see a map of Baltimore, with a flashing dot at their location.

Myka couldn’t help returning the smile, even if the idea of being trackable like that weirded her out. If it made things less painful for Claudia, she’d do anything. And maybe it would help Pete, too. She didn’t want them mad at her for things beyond their control.


	5. Chapter 5

**March**

Pete fumbled getting his phone out of his bag while driving to the Green Bay airport. “Hello,” he said, frazzled, not looking at the caller ID.

“How nice to see that you still haven’t learned proper decorum after all these months.”

The smooth voice threw him; it was perhaps the last voice he ever expected to hear again, further down the list than even his father’s. “H.G. Wells...”

“In the flesh, as it were. I just wanted to see how my favorite... gullible targets were faring.”

“How the hell did you escape custody?” He ignored the insult, and started looking for a place to pull over.

“How rude. Such language is bordering on the unprofessional, Agent Lattimer. What would your mother say?”

He rolled his eyes. “Where are you?”

Amused laughter greeted his question. “Now, now, Agent Lattimer, that would take all the fun out of this, don’t you think? It’s a game of chess, you see, where I stay forever ten steps ahead of you.”

“If your goal is to stay free, then why risk contacting me. You have to know I would be tracing this call.”

“A fit of boredom, I suppose. A bit of nostalgia. It can get a bit lonely, always being on the run. A not so friendly voice is just the thing to brighten an otherwise boring day. And it will be pointless to trace this call. It will only show that you called yourself. The psychologists may have fun with that, but it will be useless to you.”

Finally, a McDonald’s parking lot. He pulled in and turned off the car. “What do you want?”

“Only one small, tiny favor. One former partner to another?”

“Why would I do anything for you? You tried to destroy the world, remember. I prefer to stay alive. And we were never partners.”

“Tsk, Agent Lattimer. So much bitterness. Oh well. C’est la vie, and all that. Just, do make sure you let Myka know just how... amusing a diversion she was. That’s all I ask.”

Any amusement he took from the ridiculous conversation vanished. “You bitch,” he growled, not caring that his words would show up on the recording he was making. “You stay away from her...”

His threat was interrupted by another laugh, and the connection cutting off. By the time he was able to unclench his fist, the tape had continued to record for over five minutes, and he fumbled to stop it as he closed his phone. He put both the phone and the voice recorder back in his bag, and started the car again, but instead of continuing his drive, he simply rested his forehead against the steering wheel.

He had never known for sure just what the relationship was between his partner and H.G. Wells. He knew that they were friends, and had time and again appreciated that Helena had aided in trying to shield Myka from Artie’s attitude; however right Artie turned out to be, his taking it out on Myka had never been fair. Something had changed in Spain, of that Pete was absolutely sure. The weeks that followed had been awkward, to put it mildly, but eventually things had calmed down again, and the women seemed as close as they ever had. He knew that they had been sleeping together, but just how far Myka had fallen… Myka had put a lot into that friendship, and Pete had a pretty good idea what that cost her. No mere colleague would have caused that much devastation with their betrayal. While he could totally see Myka not trusting herself again, that wasn’t what made her leave. He didn’t need his vibes to know heartbreak when he saw it.

If he hadn’t been so caught up in Kelly that morning, he would have recognized Myka’s farewell outside Artie’s office for what it was. There was nothing he could think of that he could have said to change her mind, but he could have at least tried to be there for her the way she had been there for him. He could have tried harder to find her after she left. It was obvious in Baltimore that she hadn’t gotten over what had happened. Every time she had looked at him or at Claudia, all he could see was the guilt in her eyes. The pain. 

He would need to tell her about Helena. After he informed Artie and Mrs. Frederic that the woman had somehow escaped custody, from wherever she had been held, he had to call Myka. She deserved to know; especially since her name had been brought up specifically. He would not put it past the rogue agent to go after her, just for fun. Just to make a point. Why else would she taunt him like that? The woman never said or did anything without a purpose.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Myka jogged the last two blocks to her house, reaching it as the sun finally fell below the horizon. She pressed her gloved hands to her face, trying to remember how she came up with her brilliant plan to run outside in early March. She could barely feel her knees or her toes, and she ran in place as she pulled a chain out from under her sweatshirt and over her head, and used the key on it to unlock her door. As she opened the door, something made her turn and look down the street. She thought she’d heard a noise, but nothing moved on her quiet residential street. Shrugging, she turned on her porch light and went inside, locking the door behind her.

Her house was quiet, and after she entered her bedroom, she turned on her television just to get some background noise while she showered. Not really listening to the news, she peeled off her sweatshirt and toed off her shoes. Pulling off her socks, she added them to the pile of dirty laundry that she needed to toss into her hamper at some point. Her toes burned slightly as they sunk into the carpet, and she dreamed longingly of the hot water waiting for her. 

Twenty minutes later, warmly dressed in jeans and a bulky sweater, she wandered back down to her kitchen. There wasn’t much for her to make for dinner, and so she settled on a frozen dinner she’d picked up the day before. She turned on the oven and moved to head back upstairs. Something caught her eye, and she realized that her phone was blinking where she’d left it charging that afternoon after work. Turning it on, she saw she had two missed calls and a voice mail, all from Pete. She thought about ignoring it, but it had been over a month since she had seen them, and she knew he wouldn’t be calling her unless it was terribly important. They’d been exchanging text messages, much as she was doing with Claudia. She’d promised Claudia that she wouldn’t stay silent again, and she kept her promises.

Sitting down at the kitchen table, she stared at her phone and chewed on her bottom lip. Tapping the screen, she dialed her voice mail and pressed the phone to her ear. 

_Hey Myka. When you get this, you need to call me back, it’s important. Hope you’ve had a good day._

Nothing in his voice gave anything away, and she called him back. She eyed the oven as the phone rang in her ear.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Pete. I got your message?”

“Oh, right.” He sounded hesitant, and she felt cold again.

“What’s going on? Is everyone ok? Are you ok?”

He was quick to reassure her. “We’re fine, I promise. The most anyone here has is a paper cut from writing too many reports.”

“Then what’s wrong? You sounded weird in the message.”

“How have you been?”

She sighed. “I’m fine, Pete. Busy with work, the usual. Why did you call me?”

“You haven’t seen anybody odd recently? No weird phone calls, unexplained gifts, anything?”

“I don’t have a stalker, Pete. Why are you asking?”

He took a deep breath. “It’s H.G. Wells. She’s escaped from... wherever it was that she was being held.”

She froze. “How... How do you know?”

“She called me today.”

“Are you sure it was her?” It was a silly question, she knew.

“Yes.” There was a pause. “Mrs. Frederic confirmed it when I got back here.”

“When did... How long has she been out?”

“She wouldn’t say. But Artie thinks that it’s been longer than just a few days.”

She couldn’t think, couldn’t fathom the idea that Helena was free again. She was quiet for several long minutes, and Pete let her have the time she needed. “What did she say?” she finally asked. 

Pete hesitated, and Myka could tell that he wasn’t telling her the truth when he did speak. “She was taunting me, taunting us, with the fact that she was out. She knew we wouldn’t be able to trace her call, and she was right, we couldn’t.”

“What else, Pete,” she said, exhaustion evident in her voice. “She said something that made you call me, instead of emailing or having Claudia text me.”

“She mentioned you,” he muttered. “You were the only one she mentioned by name.”

Why did it matter to her that she was still on Helena’s mind? It shouldn’t, but her gut clenched anyway. “What did she say?”

“Myka...”

“What did she say, Pete?”

“You really don’t want to know, Myka.”

“Please,” she pleaded.

“She said... she said to tell you that you were an amusing diversion.”

Myka’s breath caught in her throat. “No,” she whispered, shaking her head.

“I called her a bitch,” Pete said helplessly. 

She sobbed out a laugh, and did nothing to stop the tears that trickled down her cheeks. “Thank you for the warning,” she said quietly. 

“We’ll find her, Myka. I promise, we’ll find her. Just, keep your eyes open, ok?”

After she hung up her phone, she turned off the oven and all the lights downstairs. Upstairs, she shut off the television and curled up on her bed, staring out the window. Pete’s words ran through her mind over and over, but worse was that she could _hear_ Helena saying them. Could hear her inflections and the cadence of her voice. All this time, she’d survived on the belief that, no matter what else Helena had done, the time they spent together meant something. That Myka’s influence over her was what stopped Helena from killing her, from continuing with her plan. She had no way to express the devastation of having all of it reduced to a simple amusement, something to help her pass the time. She could barely even cry about it, the tears she’d shed in the kitchen having dried before she left the room.

Why had she never believed Helena could break her heart? In all the questioning, in all the debating, in all the time she’d spent in her arms, nothing in Helena’s behavior, in her words, in her eyes made her seem anything but sincere. Myka couldn’t read auras and didn’t get vibes, but she always knew when someone was lying to her. Helena had been the adoring lover, the perfect partner, the best friend... And now she was gone. None of it had been real.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

For several days after she spoke to Pete, Myka was hyper alert for any signs that Helena might have tracked her down. She was thankful for the Secret Service policy of not having their agents listed in phone books, but, despite being very behind the times with regards to modern technology, Helena was unsurprisingly resourceful. But there was nothing. Eventually, her edginess wore off, and she stopped being easily startled by her colleagues. There was enough going around the office about her to begin with without rumors circulating that she was getting extremely paranoid.

She saw nothing unusual, heard nothing unusual. If Helena was out there, she wasn’t looking for her. Not that she could have, or would have, done anything for her anyway. No longer a Warehouse agent, Myka couldn’t be used to gain access to artifacts or provide a cover for some nefarious deed. It pained her to imagine just what else Helena had been up to in those six months, besides using her as a bed warmer. 

She had no one to blame but herself. She had encouraged the Regents to bring Helena back. Maybe it was ultimately their decision, but she had certainly done everything she could do to make it happen. She’d played right into Helena’s hand. She had started things in Cordoba, she had been the one to continue them. It’s not as though Helena continuously threw herself at her, she had been perfectly content to return to their pre-sexual relationship. It was Myka who had ultimately made the decision to bring Helena back to her bed. What did that say about her, that she put a pretty face and warm body above the concerns of the people who knew better? She hoped Helena never came after her, never decided that she would once again be an amusement. Because a very small part of her wanted nothing more than to just give into her, to try to regain what she had lost in Egypt, and damn the consequences. 

She never wanted to see her again. Never wanted the temptation she knew she would have to fight. One more night spent in Helena’s arms would be enough to make her lose what was left of her soul.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

**June**

Claudia bobbed her head in time to the music playing in her ears, scanning through her code to make sure there were no surprises that would come up when she started the program. She would have preferred to test the program out on her own laptop first, instead of the Warehouse computer, but seeing as it was a Warehouse inventory program, that would kind of defeat the purpose. Looking over both shoulders to make sure that no one was around, she crossed her fingers, closed one eye, and started the program. 

When no alarms went off and the computer stayed on, she relaxed. It would have made for a very bad day if she had crashed the computers. The Warehouse wasn’t big enough for her to be able to hide from Artie’s wrath if something had gone wrong. Now it was time to see if her idea would work. If it did, that might just be enough to keep Artie’s annoyance at her messing with the computer at bay.

She had no idea if this would work, but it had been running through her head ever since Dr. Vanessa had tried to bond her with the Warehouse. She knew that what Mrs. Frederic could remember from her brief bonding with Warehouse 2 had faded from her memory, but what if the Warehouse still had that information stored somewhere? Information was like energy, it couldn’t be destroyed, just altered, or hidden. In the eight months since, she’d done searches and compared records and memory stats of the current Warehouse system, and there was enough of an increase in data stored _somewhere_ over that twenty-four hour period, that she was certain that the Warehouse had made a copy or something of the information Mrs. Frederic had received. 

The only problem now was to find it and use it. After all, H.G. Wells was still out there, and the Regents and Artie were certain that she had gone to Warehouse 2 for more than just the Minoan Trident. The main issue was that they had no idea what else had been there that would have interested her. She’d contacted them randomly in the three and a half months since her initial phone call to Pete, and though they never saw her when they were out hunting for artifacts, she made it clear that she was keeping up with their work. Somehow she managed to lay low and go virtually undetected, and Claudia couldn’t track her at all. Not through her bank accounts still active in London or the phone number she used to call Pete and occasionally leave Claudia text messages. Those texts were the oddest of the lot, as they sounded so much like the Helena Claudia had known before Egypt, not the psychotic woman she had turned out to be. It was like the woman couldn’t decide if she wanted to lead them on a wild goose chase or just catch them up on her summer vacation. 

The computer beeped, and it was all Claudia could do not to start chair dancing. The program had worked! Bits and pieces of data that she didn’t recognize, and therefore had to be from the old Warehouse, were being retrieved and collated. It would be slow going, as it was a lot of data, but if she was lucky they would soon have at least a partial inventory of Warehouse 2.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Three hours later, the first complete entries started being added to the index that she had set up. She clicked through them, noting that several were marked as _missing_ , though the parchment she supposed may have just weathered with age. Two thousand years was slightly more than a few hundred, and maybe the ancient artifacts just didn’t stand the test of time as well the more recent ones.

One of those missing first items caught her eye, initially only because it was the first missing item that was not made of paper or fabric. It was apparently a thin, finely wrought silver chain, nearly two and a half feet long. It had once belonged to Marcus Junius Brutus, and had been worn by him on the Ides of March. Her spidey senses were tingling; the entry said that this chain had been one of the last items placed in the Warehouse before it was abandoned, having been brought there within months of Julius Caesar’s death. The date it went missing coincided with the final days of that Warehouse, about four years later. 

She called up another window and set the Warehouse computer to searching for any odd occurrences in which a silver chain was involved. The entry did not say what the chain did, but something told her it had to do with betrayal. Her blood ran cold; she suspected she knew where that chain ended up. Or, at least, who was currently in possession of it.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Six hours later, Claudia paced the hallway outside of Pete’s room, chewing on the edge of a fingernail. Her searches had produced results, and she had no idea what to do next. She wanted to go to Artie, but she held back. He knew everything, but he also hated Helena, even before she went all evil-doer on everyone. He would not be thrilled with _anything_ that might even hint at the possibility that she wasn’t responsible for her actions. Crossing her arms, she went back to her own door and started to open it. Shaking her head, she turned around and went back to Pete’s door. She stared at it for another long moment, and then opened the door.

She didn’t bother to turn the lights on, she just walked in and sat down on the bed, making it bounce a little bit. 

“Wha... Whoa... What?” Pete shot upright in bed, but she didn’t move from her seat beside him against the headboard. “Claudia?”

She crossed her legs and twiddled her thumbs rapidly. She heard several small thuds as Pete hit his nightstand before a small light turned on. 

“Claudia, what are you doing in here?”

She chewed on her lip and crossed her arms against her stomach. 

“Claud?”

“I found something out,” she said abruptly.

He sat up so that he was sitting beside her. “About... what?”

She started cracking her knuckles, and then stopped, sitting on her hands.

Pete grabbed onto her arm. “Claudia, what’s going on?”

She looked at him, and then curled up against his shoulder. “I was playing with the Warehouse computer.”

“You didn’t crash it or anything, did you?”

She shook her head. “No. I just wrote a program. To find all the information Mrs. Frederic had in her head last year. I thought maybe it might have been stored somewhere in the Warehouse computer, and I found it, and now we have the inventory from Warehouse 2 including what is missing and there is a problem. Or maybe not a problem, but I think it is and if I’m right it’s a good thing and also a bad thing, and I really don’t know what to do now.” She paused for a breath.

“Slow down, Claud. What did you find?”

“There’s an artifact from Warehouse 2. Well, it was in the Warehouse for only a few years before it went missing, and then they closed it down and it stayed missing for hundreds of years. It started showing up again in Persia and Italy and Britain, practically everywhere in two thousand years. I think I know where it is.”

“Well... that’s good, right? If you know where it is, we can go find it. It’s what we do, Claudia.”

“You don’t understand,” she said plaintively. “It’s so totally not that simple.” 

Pete moved away from her, and she caught herself before she fell over. “Claudia, I’m really not awake for this conversation. How about you give me five minutes, go make a pot of coffee, and I’ll meet you down in the living room, ok?”

Ten minutes later, she was halfway through her cup of coffee and realizing that caffeine wasn’t really helping her too much. Hearing footsteps on the stairs, she quickly poured another one and headed out, meeting Pete in the living room as he’d requested. She handed him the coffee, and scurried off for the sugar when he grimaced. 

“Alright, now, what is going on?”

“I... I think H.G. Wells in under the influence of an artifact and has been since before she was bronzed,” she rushed out, her words blurring together. She backed away when it looked like Pete was going to spit out his drink.

“What?”

She paced the room; too much nervous energy was coursing through her for her to stay still. “I think H.G. is...”

“No, no, stop, I heard you. Why do you think she has this artifact?” 

She didn’t answer him, trying to organize it all in her head. It had seemed so obvious back at the Warehouse, and she wished she had the computer here.

“Claudia...”

“The files I found. If the artifact wasn’t present when Mrs. Frederic was connected to Warehouse 2, all the information still was, all that is missing is an image of it. But the information has really detailed descriptions of every artifact, like, ridiculously detailed. You could design a new perfect match from them detailed. Pretty useful since they didn’t have cameras back then. I was looking at one of them, and I recognized it. It’s H.G.’s locket. But not the locket part, with her daughter’s picture, the chain. I think it’s the necklace Brutus was wearing when he helped kill Julius Caesar.”

Pete carefully set his cup aside and walked to her. “Claud... You’re a girl, you know how many silver necklaces there have to be in the world. What makes you think that hers is this artifact?”

“I’ve seen it, Pete. Up close, she showed it to me once. It’s old, an antique, with a really unique clasp that I’ve never seen before. But that description? Exact match.”

“What is it supposed to do?”

“It’s Brutus’ necklace. He betrayed Caesar wearing it. The next record of it, some Armenian prince betrayed his king to the Persians. There’s also a Swedish noble woman and a Chinese guy named Wu, who were believed by the various Warehouses to have acted under the influence of the necklace. They thought it made the wearer betray the people they were closest to, with no provocation. They just could never get to it in time, so they were never able to neutralize it.”

“I know you want her to not be the bad guy, Claudia. I wish she wasn’t either. But she had that necklace before she was bronzed, and nothing in her record hinted at her attempting global mass destruction or trying to get into Warehouse 2.”

She pointed at him, nearly spilling the coffee she was holding with that hand. "But that's the point! She didn’t have that locket until after Christina’s death! Well, the locket was a gift from her mother, but she had to replace the chain with one she found at an auction house two years later. Only six months before she was bronzed. It was in that six months that she had her daughter reburied in a new casket, one with the handles you saw in France, and the other part of the Trident. She told me and Myka one day when I asked her about her necklace; I thought it was cool, I didn’t realize it had her daughter’s picture in it.

“I think she came across the necklace by accident, and didn’t know it was an artifact. One of the few records about it I could find said that the traitors always claimed that, up until the moment of betrayal, they didn’t remember doing anything bad. The people around them saw no signs, but there was just a series of small things they did that they couldn’t remember, whether it was hiding a knife or buying something or writing a letter. Evidence that was later used against them, evidence that they couldn’t recall.

“We know that H.G. transferred a ton of money to those grad students, but I don’t think she really remembers doing that. She doesn’t know how to use a computer with the skill it takes to hack into the bank accounts, and that’s how it was done. We may be able to find the computer she used, though I haven’t yet, and there may be video footage if she did it in public, but I don’t think it was her. I think it was the necklace.”

She could tell that Pete at least was thinking it over, not just humoring her. She wasn’t  
even sure that she believed it, but there was one thing that had always bothered her about what Helena had done, and also, what she ended up _not_ doing.

“And here’s another thing. You weren’t here when it was happening, I know, but I don’t think even watching it after the fact would be the same as what we saw when it happened. She was hell bent on destroying the world, for whatever reason she finally settled on, and she was ok with killing every living thing on the planet. But when it came down to watching Myka die in front of her, she couldn’t do it. Under the influence of the necklace or whatever, if she just went completely psycho on us, she couldn’t hurt her. I don’t think she has it in her to actually harm her. I think she’s fighting it, and while it’s mostly winning, she’s doing things like contacting us. She knows we’re looking for her, and yet she’s calling you and texting me and some days it’s like she is just on vacation and she’s coming back next week.”

Pete scratched at his head, and Claudia knew she had him. 

“You’re right, I don’t have any proof of this, but I think I’m right. This whole situation is just too fucked up for an artifact not to be involved. It practically screams artifact.”

“You make a very good argument, Claudia, I’ll give you that. It may be something that we can use to track her down.” He yawned, and tried to cover it up. “We should warn Myka, too. And figure out what to say to Artie.”

“I want to talk to Mrs. Frederic, see if she got anything else from Warehouse 2 that maybe she didn’t lose and didn’t make it to our system. I think we should do that before we talk to Artie. He might take it better from her than from us, since it’s Helena.”

“And another good point. You ever considered law school?” He took the coffee mug from her. “I’ll take care of these, you get to bed.”

She nodded. She could feel the adrenaline starting to wear off. “Thanks for listening. And for, you know, not minding that I woke you up.”

He just waved her to the doorway, and as she passed through it, he called out, “Hey, you did good.”

She tried not to happy dance her way up the stairs. Maybe, just maybe, all the broken pieces around her could be fixed. That elusive dream seemed attainable, for the first time.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Pete rinsed out the mugs and washed out the coffee pot, and set it up for the morning. When that was done, he stared out the window, looking up at the stars. He didn’t want to think about the call he would eventually have to make to Myka. They’d spoken a few times since he called her to tell her Helena had escaped, but the woman was never mentioned. He understood that it was a verboten topic unless Myka brought her up, which she never did. They carried on perfectly well that way, and it wasn’t like they were terribly long conversations to begin with. Just quick calls to make sure she was ok, to pass on the latest Claudia escapade and the status of the flirtation between Artie and Dr. Vanessa, to lament over the poor donut quality since Dunkin’ Donuts went out of business in Univille. All a cover, hiding what neither of them could say.

The last time they’d spoken, it sounded like Myka was finally getting settled in Baltimore. She’d been made a team lead, and her boss had decided she had a knack for the counterfeiting thing, so things were going well for her. If there was a hint of melancholy in her voice, he never mentioned it. If his vague descriptions of Warehouse life were less exciting, she never complained. And now, he was going to have to bring up the unmentionable Helena. Or not. Maybe it was best to wait until they had more information. Or at least, had spoken to Mrs. Frederic about it. She would know what to do.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

So many evenings spent lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, her mind reeling. Helena had no idea what to make of it. Had no idea what to do with her freedom. It was one thing when she was trying to work her way back into the Warehouse, she had a purpose then. Especially once she met the illustrious Myka Bering. But now, she had nothing. Nothing to keep her mind occupied. She had money, and plenty of it, from her accounts in London and those she’d set up in America, designating herself as the heir apparent before she was bronzed. She had a flat, tastefully decorated, or so she was told, in the modern fashion.

She wasn’t even all that interested in circumventing the Warehouse agents. It had been MacPherson, in those few days of their “partnership,” who had wanted world domination, and enjoyed the plotting and selling of artifacts to the highest bidder. Occasionally she amused herself with those thoughts, even going so far as to search daily for signs of possible artifact exposure, but in all honesty, she was at cross purposes with herself. She didn’t care one way or the other. The only thing she truly desired was Christina back, and that was as impossible now as it ever had been. 

The rage she’d operated under she put down to the effects of the Minoan Trident, as it dwindled quickly after she cast it aside. There was the occasional thought of breaking into the Warehouse, or staging a kidnapping, but it all just felt like child’s play. There was no purpose behind it, and she found herself ignoring those thoughts more and more. There was nothing for her there anyway. It had taken most of her time since her escape to determine that Myka was no longer working for the Warehouse. The tracker she’d placed in her cell phone a few weeks before their adventure in Egypt no longer worked by the time she remembered it, back in the early spring. She’d forgotten about it, in all honesty, until the day she saw a young woman, maybe only a few years younger than Myka, with similar features while she was travelling through Charleston. By then, it was too late. 

Some evenings she foolishly considered trying to return to the Warehouse. Impossible; she was well aware that the only way she would ever go back now was bronzed or dead. But life was simpler there; full of purpose and without care for the boring rigors of life. There was nothing attractive there anymore, though, now that Myka was gone. Toying with Agent Lattimer was an amusement to be sure, but any satisfaction she gained from those parleys had a tendency to fade not long after. She was bored. There was no other way to say it. And nothing good ever came of her boredom.

One facet of this modern world that she thoroughly enjoyed was the shower. Part of her considered it an excess and a waste of clean water, but neither complaint kept her from luxuriating in the boiling water that caressed her skin daily. She did her clearest thinking in the shower, and she supposed it was the calming effect of the water as much as anything else. Those were the times she seriously contemplated inquiring after employment, perhaps at one of those large book shops. She would need to stay away from any position that potentially put her under a spotlight, and from what she had seen of modern American commerce, no one was more invisible than a shopkeeper. She did miss the days when her tailor knew her by name and knew exactly what she liked, and her local book shop proprietor would personally come to inform her when new books that matched her taste were available.

But, after she dressed and reverently replaced her locket around her neck, those thoughts would retreat for a time, until another night came to pass with nothing else to capture her attention.


	6. Chapter 6

As happened after Pete’s first call regarding Helena’s escape, for several long days after the news of a possible artifact affecting Helena’s behavior, Myka remained ultra-vigilant. There was no sign of her in Baltimore, however, and while she was grateful for Pete’s concern, there was little more that she could do than simply keep an eye out for the fugitive. It really was no surprise to her just how quickly the woman vanished into thin air, given that she had no background in the era, no history that could easily be googled that did not date after 1902. And anyway, she had enough to do on her own besides act as the eyes and ears of the Warehouse. Her boss was still eyeing her speculatively and unsubtly, trying to get information about her previous position with all the finesse of a bull in a china shop. It was almost laughable, as though he thought he could catch her unawares and pry the information from her.

She let her guard down whenever she left Baltimore for her work, though it seemed counter-intuitive. If Helena didn’t know she was in Baltimore, it was highly unlikely then that she would be able to track her when she left, and there wasn’t as much travel to be done now anyway. What little she did she did in a car, not a plane, and she only went as far as Richmond, or in this case, Pittsburgh. She was there to meet with a professor from Carnegie Mellon University’s art department and to also give a presentation to the new task force at the Pittsburgh Field Office. She needed some excuse as to why she was making the drive instead of simply making a phone call, and the SAIC’s request came at the perfect time.

She liked her new colleagues well enough, and had settled into working with them fairly easily. There was one whom she was pretty certain had been a class behind her in training; he had that vaguely familiar look, but he didn’t seem all that interested in her so she let the recognition go. Plenty of them had heard the stories that came out of Denver. She’d expected that, and flat-out refused to discuss it. She didn’t care that her refusal just led to more theories; her work was always completely professional, and whatever she’d done or they thought she’d done in Denver didn’t affect her. That’s not to say her time at the Warehouse didn’t affect her, but since they didn’t know about it, it didn’t really matter. She was not unhappy, however, to be taking this trip to Pennsylvania on her own. 

Traffic getting to the Fort Pitt tunnel was backed up fourteen miles, and turned her four and a half hour drive into nearly seven hours as she crawled her way to, and then through the tunnel, one eye on her fuel gage the entire way. As always seemed to happen, once she was through the tunnel, traffic sped up, and within fifteen minutes she was in Oakland, looking for her hotel. It was far too late now to meet with the Professor, as she had planned. An hour into the traffic jam, she called him to reschedule; all she wanted to do was get to her room and collapse. There was a possibility of food, but that was of lesser consideration to simply getting out of the car. 

She slept well that night, in an amazingly comfortable bed, high enough above the college town streets for most of the noise to only be a faint background distraction that was easy to ignore.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The only time Professor Stuart had available the next morning, if she still needed at least an hour and a half of his time, meant that she needed to be up no later than seven. Granted, that was a luxury compared to her normal schedule, but considering she’d slept for nearly eleven hours, she still felt tired. Driving did have its downsides. She was not terribly impressed by the breakfast offered by the hotel, and instead ventured out in the neighborhood. She was only about a fifteen minute walk from the campus, and she quickly found a small bakery that had a Starbucks around the corner. Both places were filled with college students getting their morning pick-me-ups on their way to their first class, and for a while she just sat there watching them, remembering what it was like to be in college. Not a care in the world except passing her classes, no responsibility, no guilt, just figuring out where she wanted to go. It was hard to believe it had only been seven years since she graduated college. It felt like forever.

The campus was fairly easy to get to, and once there, it only took asking two students for directions before she found the College of Fine Arts. Finding the office she was looking for, she quickly buttoned up her suit jacket and knocked on the door. Time for a ninety minute lecture on the importance of verifying the type of paper used to make the counterfeit money by one of the designers of the new bank notes.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

After shaking the Professor’s hand and thanking him for his help, she went back out into the real world. The lecture, though unbelievably dry, had actually been interesting. She knew a lot of what he had been saying, but had never heard it from the perspective of someone actually making the money. She’d taken more notes than she expected, and pondered inviting him to speak in Baltimore the next time they had to do one of their quarterly training seminars. So lost in her thoughts as she walked along Forbes Ave, she did not notice the figure on the other side of the street who stopped suddenly, staring after her as she went by.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

_Bloody hell_ , was the first thought that raced through Helena’s mind as she exited her building and looked across the street. There was absolutely no mistaking, even from forty feet away, the woman walking along the street for anyone other than Myka Bering. She stepped back, letting a few students pass her by, and quickly scanned the length of the street as far as she could see. There was no sign of Agent Lattimer, or anyone else recognizable as a federal agent, and even Myka herself could pass for a graduate student on her way to class. Forgoing her plans for the morning, which had included a walk to one of the lovely museums near the university, she instead followed Myka. She needed to know what she was doing here, and she bit back a curse as the woman crossed the street and hailed a cab.

It seemed pure luck that another cab pulled up alongside her, and she simply requested he take her downtown, her eyes never leaving the cab that was eight cars ahead. After the harrowing trip down the side of the mountain, she saw Myka’s cab stop next to the clearly marked federal building, and let her own driver continue on before requesting to be let off three blocks further down. She crossed to the other side of the street and made the walk back. There was one of those popular coffee shops on the opposite corner from the building, and she purchased a venti tea and settled into one of their overstuffed chairs to watch the main entrance. She wished she’d brought a book with her, as she did not expect this to be a quick surveillance operation.

She was absolutely right on that point. Nearly four hours later, having partaken of three large teas and a croissant, she finally saw Myka walk out of the building with what looked like five other agents from one of the American bureaus or another. Her skin ran cold as she realized the group was preparing use the crosswalk that would lead straight to her, and she could have kicked herself for failing to plan on this contingency. As casually as she could, she stood and left the café, trying to lose herself in the lunchtime crowd that filled the street. She headed back the way she came without glancing at where Myka stood, though when she felt she was far enough away, she turned back, expecting not to see anyone. 

Instead, her eyes locked on Myka’s as the woman waited to be able to enter the café Helena had just left. She felt the unconscious smirk cross her lips as Myka’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly and she paled. Helena shoved her hands deep into her coat pockets and turned around, putting enough flounce into the gesture to be almost comical as she tried very hard not to run. Myka could not very well chase after her, not without a good deal of explanation, so for the moment she was safe. But she had to get home. She had to find someplace new. She had to find out just what Myka Bering was doing in the very same city where Helena had set up her exile.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

For one very brief moment, Myka thought she’d seen a ghost. It had been three days since she’d allowed conscious thoughts of Helena cross her mind; for her that was a major victory. Here she was, tagging along on a Starbucks run with the group of fairly newly minted agents she’d spent the last several hours lecturing, and out of the crowd, there was Helena. She looked almost exactly as she had in California, when Myka and Claudia had been there investigating the wrestling team. Only this time, Myka could not track her down. There would be no “rescued by a grappling hook” moment of flirtation, no complete lack of personal space, no Claudia to save. Myka would not be the hero, at least not now.

Helena vanished into the crowds as quickly as she appeared, leaving only the echo of her image behind. Myka vaguely heard her name called, and with one last, long look down the busy street, she joined her group inside.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Myka could hardly focus the rest of the day, and it took a great deal of effort to not look like a complete imbecile in front of her peers. She was glad that they seemed to be interested in what her task force was doing in Maryland, and their questions kept her somewhat on point until she could finally escape. She argued with herself in the cab back to her hotel, her thumb on the send button on her phone, over texting Claudia a request for Mrs. Frederic to contact her. The fact that there was even a debate on the subject worried her. Had she even seen Helena, or was she just a figment of her imagination, come to haunt her and prevent her from forgetting her own downfall?

She wasn’t in the mood for dinner when she got back to the hotel. She detoured quickly to a convenience store nearby and picked up a package of twizzlers and a gatorade, before going back to her room. That was all she felt that she could stomach. She let the door shut behind and put the chain across, and dropped the shopping bag and her shoulder bag on the bed. She unclipped her holster from her waistband and, after checking the safety and the number of rounds on autopilot, she tucked that into her suitcase and headed for the closet. Her suit jacket and pants she hung up, and the rest of her clothes she tossed onto the floor of the closet for the moment. She’d deal with them later, after she showered.

If she had hoped that the shower would keep her mind off of Helena, she was wrong. As the water rained down on her, she didn’t even try to hold back that warmth that built between her thighs. This at least was a good memory, if somewhat bittersweet, one of their last times together.

_In all the nearly three months of their relationship, they had only showered together four times. It wasn’t an easy accomplishment; at Leena’s the three agents and their apprentice shared a common bathroom, so they were limited to opportunities while out on missions. Not that they planned these encounters, exactly. Myka had surprised Helena the first time she’d slipped into the shower with her, and learned after the fact that Helena had never heard of someone doing that before. Not that she hadn’t enjoyed it, Helena was quick to assure her, in the clearest terms possible. Certainly the twenty-first century had much to offer in the course of pleasure-seeking._

_They were in Pheonix this time around, looking for the literal smoking gun, thought to have gone missing in London around the same time that Helena had been working with Warehouse 12, though she was not familiar with the artifact other than from the Sherlock Holmes story it got its name from. Their flight was the next morning, and she and Helena had left Pete watching a football game in his room down the hall. They’d spent an hour writing up their reports, and once that was done, neither of them particularly cared to listen to Pete yell at the television screen._

_Myka was the first into the shower, having left Helena lounging on the bed reading a book about quantum mechanics. She had her face turned up into the water, and the brush of cold air against her lower back was her only warning before warm hands curled over her hips. She grinned into the water spray, and stepped back against Helena’s body. Helena pulled her tighter, and pressed her lips to Myka’s shoulder._

_“I couldn’t bear to be alone out there, knowing you were in here, your beautiful body pinked by the hot water. I couldn’t simply leave you in here and not partake of your beauty.”_

_Myka shivered, as she always did when Helena spoke like that. Helena had such a way with words, that many times, Myka was on the edge of orgasm simply from what Helena would whisper in her ear or murmur against her skin. “I’m glad you joined me. I was getting lonely,” she said teasingly, reaching back and curling her fingers into Helena’s hair. “I didn’t know what to do with myself.”_

_Helena’s soft laughter vibrated against her ear. “I think I can help you with that.” As if to her demonstrate her point, one hand slid up Myka’s stomach to cup her breast. Helena’s fingers pulled at her nipple, and she turned in Helena’s arms, pressing her lips to Helena’s cheek, and then her chin, and finally her lips._

_As their tongues dueled, the hand at her breast dropped and two fingers slid along her clit and then inside. Her knees trembled. Helena pulled her around and pressed her up against the tiled wall. With that leverage, Helena withdrew her fingers and Myka whimpered, only to have three fingers thrust back inside. Helena’s thumb pressed against her clit, and Myka bit down hard on Helena’s lower lip. They both tasted blood, and Myka whispered an apology. Helena pinched her side in response._

_Myka locked her arms around Helena’s neck. She tore her mouth away, gasping as she clenched around Helena’s fingers. Helena’s lips pressed against the base of her throat, and Myka came with a sharp cry. Helena kissed her neck, and then her lips gently, over and over as Myka caught her breath. She continued to thrust her fingers into Myka slowly, until Myka finally sighed and relaxed._

Myka came noiselessly, rubbing against her clit as she braced herself against the shower wall. With her other hand she brushed at her cheeks, where silent tears mingled with the spray from the shower. One of these days, she promised herself again, she would no longer remember this woman and their life together. One day the simplest actions would stop reminding her of what she’d lost.

She washed, finishing up just as the water turned cold. She couldn’t say much for the water pressure at the hotel, but their towels were big, soft, and fluffy. She dried off and ran a second towel over her hair. Brushing it quickly, she wrapped the towel around herself, securing the loose end under her arm, and left the bathroom. 

Two steps out of the bathroom, she jolted to a stop, eyes widened in surprise and fear. 

“Hello, darling.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When Helena returned to her flat, she reran her search of Myka’s name. Nothing came up, beyond the same article from over her school years that always appeared. She could not be found in the internet address or phone number search either. It could not possibly be a coincidence that she was in the same city, the same neighborhood even, where Helena now lived. She wished she was better with these computers, that she’d learned more from Claudia when she’d had the chance. The girl could find anything, and at that moment, Helena would have given almost anything she had to find the information she wanted.

She shoved the laptop away and went to the window, staring out over the street. It had been fairly early when she’d seen Myka, she mused thoughtfully. If she didn’t live here, perhaps she was staying here, away from the downtown area. They’d talked about it once, when Myka was talking about how much she disliked living in the American capital. She hated living in the heart of a city, it had too much noise and too many people. Perhaps that carried over to her travel, when she was alone. 

She went back to her computer and ran a search for hotels in Oakland. She didn’t think there were very many, and hopefully she would have some luck.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It only took eight phone calls to get the information she needed, and she hid her amusement over how easily led these so-called professionals were. At every hotel she contacted, she simply asked to leave a message for Myka Bering, and then feigned quite effectively her surprise that the must have gotten the name of the hotel wrong. The young man she spoke to at the last hotel even read out the room number after confirming that the woman was indeed a guest there. She read in the newspapers daily of people wondering why security was such a hard thing to achieve, and she had the perfect example right there on the other end of the phone.

With that knowledge firmly in hand, she went about the rest of her afternoon, and at seven in the evening, walked into Myka’s hotel as though she belonged there. No one questioned her presence as she made her way to the elevators and up to the ninth floor. It was a slightly older hotel, one that still used keys for their doors instead of those dreadful plastic cards, for which she was thankful. She could hear the faint sounds of the shower running inside Myka’s room, and she made quick work of the lock. 

The chain was latched, as she expected. Myka was one to lock every conceivable lock on a door, no matter where she was. That too was the work of but a moment, something she’d perfected in the last several months. The noise of the shower didn’t change as she opened the door the rest of the way and quietly shut it and relocked it. The room was empty, and the bathroom door shut. She crossed the room and searched first the suitcase lying on top of the dresser and then the briefcase on the bed. She tucked the gun into her coat pocket and read through the files and notes both bags held, some of her tension easing when she found no reference to her at all, simply money.

The shower turned off, and after a rapid internal debate, she decided to stay. She settled herself in one of the chairs and pulled the gun back out of her pocket it and, verifying the safety was still on, held it pointed towards the bathroom door. She had no intention of shooting Myka, but it wouldn’t do for her to do something stupid. The door opened a few minutes later, and she enjoyed the sight of Myka’s bare skin, and the memories of what was hidden beneath the white cotton, even as she raised the weapon and sighted it on Myka’s heart.

“Hello, darling.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Myka stood there frozen, towel clutched tightly against her body. She’d had guns pointed at her before, had been shot at before, but then again, she too had been armed. Now she was as helpless as it was possible for her to be, no weapon, no phone, no _clothes_.

“What are you doing here?” she finally managed to get out, unable to pull her eyes away from the gun pointed at her. 

Helena just chuckled, and Myka glanced up. Helena was raking her eyes over her, the rakish grin on her face freeing her somewhat from her fear, and righteous indignation set in. 

She pressed the towel tighter against her chest, and wished it were a bit longer so she didn’t have to slouch to keep from exposing more of her body to the other woman. Not that it really mattered, Helena was very familiar with what she looked like, and clearly was enjoying the sight. “What are you doing here?” she repeated, her eyes flicking between Helena’s face and the gun. 

Helena shrugged, the grin fading to a devilish smirk. “Isn’t that an odd question to ask your lover?”

Myka’s nostrils flared. “Seeing as how this is the second time you’ve pointed a gun at me, not really.” She started to lift her arms, and then remembered the scrap of cloth that was her only protection. “Clearly I am no threat to you. 

“Oh, how wrong you are at that, darling. But please, do feel free to get dressed.” She paused for a few seconds, and Myka started to take a step towards her suitcase. “Of course... I can’t let you leave the room to do it. Who knows what might be in that bathroom of yours? I do have your cell phone, by the way, in case you thought of sneaking off with it. You would have had some trouble in that respect.” She pulled the small electronic device out of her other pocket.

Myka stilled her movements. It was better, she decided, to just get the conversation over with. There was very little chance that she’d be able to take Helena into custody, short of somehow knocking her out. And she could not, _would not_ , allow Helena the intimacy of watching her dress. “I’m good,” she said casually. “So, you going to tell me what you’re doing, or am I just going to stand here all night until you get tired of holding a gun on me?”

“I,” Helena started, standing. “I was not expecting to see you outside my home this morning. I came here to find out if I’ve truly done such a horrid job of hiding. Though I’ve already determined that you knew nothing of my whereabouts. Now I’m just here for the... scenery, as it were.” She tossed the phone onto the floor on the far side of the bed.

“Wait. You live in Pittsburgh?” That was not what Myka had expected to hear. “I thought... Never mind.” How could she say that some tiny part of her had thought Helena might have been following her. Had wanted to see her.

“Is there a problem with Pittsburgh? I find it a charming city, not as overwhelming and busy as some of the others I’ve been too. It reminds me a bit of home, in a modern sort of way. I will be sad to leave it.”

“Why would you leave it?”

If she didn’t realized as soon as she said it that it was a stupid question, the rolling of the eyes and the look Helena gave her would have been a clue.

“Well, I can hardly stay now that you’ve sussed me out. It defeats the purpose of a hiding place, Myka,” Helena replied, speaking as though to a child. “Oh well. I’m sure wherever I end up next will do just as well. I’ve heard lovely things about San Francisco. Or perhaps... Baltimore?”

It took all of Myka’s efforts not to react, and she could not be sure how well she succeeded. It was difficult to act the trained agent that she was, when all could think about was how little the towel she was wearing covered, and how appreciatively Helena was looking at her.

“No... I think Baltimore would be too crowded. Don’t you think?”

She half shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t think it would be amusing enough for you,” Myka bit back. “San Francisco may hold your attention better.” She wasn’t still hurt by Helena’s parting comment to Pete. Really, she wasn’t.

Helena sauntered closer, reaching up to trail her finger over the edge of the towel, and goose bumps formed on Myka’s skin. “Why did you leave the Warehouse?”

“Why do you care?” Myka countered, stepping back and hitting the wall behind her. 

“I’m simply curious. You seemed to enjoy your work there, I never thought you would leave it willingly.”

“I did enjoy it,” Myka answered honestly. “You know that I did. But it was time for me to leave.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted to move on with my life. What does it matter to you, anyway? You’re a fugitive that Artie would love to see dead, not bronzed.”

Helena pushed back a strand of wet hair off of Myka’s forehead and murmured thoughtfully, “You were happiest there. It is irrational that you would leave someplace where you were happy, willingly, unless you are punishing yourself.”

Myka stared back at her, finally succeeding in her attempts not to react. What did it matter, anyway? Helena had always seemed to know that while, yes, the Warehouse was Myka’s happiest place, it was only because she had someone to share the awe and the adventure with.

“That’s what you are doing, isn’t it?” Helena continued thoughtfully. “That’s what you always do, punish yourself, even when you bear no blame in the situation.”

“How can you say I have no blame in this? Helena, you tried to cause a new ice age! You would not have had that chance if it hadn’t been for me, for my recommendation. I trusted you, when nobody else did, and you betrayed that. I can’t believe I…” Myka’s explosion ended. She couldn’t wish that she’d never started a relationship with Helena. She knew she should regret it. She knew she should be ashamed of it, but for all that had happened since then, she just… couldn’t. How could she, when because of it she had finally accepted something about herself that she’d been avoiding her entire life? How could she, when those few months were some of the happiest she’d ever had? Even if it had all been a lie, some things were true just because. Like her emotions.

Helena tilted her head, that secret smile back on her face. “You did nothing wrong,” she said softly, turning away and opening the far dresser drawer. She set the gun carefully inside, and headed for the door.

Myka could barely breathe as Helena passed close by her. The woman stopped directly in front of her and leaned in, her lips brushing softly against Myka’s. 

“You never were an amusement, Myka,” Helena said, her voice serious for the first time that night. She kissed her one last time, and walked out the door, leaving Myka staring after her, wide eyed. She was stuck, unable to go after her, unable to apprehend her.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Once the door was shut, Myka dropped her towel onto the floor and grabbed for underwear and her pajamas. She dressed in about fifteen seconds and rushed back out the door barefoot, barely remembering to keep the door from shutting. Helena was gone, and there was no way to know where she was going. All she knew was that Helena had to be living somewhere nearby, if she’d followed her downtown, but that left a lot of ground to cover, and undoubtedly she was using a false name. Sighing in frustration and feeling the last of the adrenaline start to fade, she went back inside her room.

The first thing she did was take the gun back out of drawer and pick up her phone. The gun she took completely apart, reassuring herself that it was still functional. The phone she also took apart, looking for anything Helena may have added to it, like the small chip Claudia had found back in Baltimore. Once those two tasks were completed, she did a thorough search of the hotel room. There were obvious signs of a prior search, her papers weren’t neatly placed in her briefcase, but there was nothing missing, as far as she could tell. Nothing new, either. Throwing one last frustrated glare at the door, now relocked and chained, she collapsed onto the bed.

She toyed with her phone for a moment, biting at her lip. Finally, she wrote up a short text and hit send, and then turned her phone to silent for the rest of the night. 

It was a good thing that she wasn’t leaving until late morning, because she did not fall asleep until well past midnight, and even then, it was a restless sleep. Every noise she heard, every flash of a headlight through the curtains, distracted her. It was a long night.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Just before eleven the next morning, hiding behind her sunglasses, Myka signed the paperwork to check out of the hotel. Receipt in hand, because the last thing she wanted to do was pay for this trip completely on her own without government reimbursement, she declined the offer of help to her car and walked down the block to the small parking garage. Stowing her small suitcase in the trunk and her briefcase on the floor of the passenger seat, she got in and started the car. She put the car in reverse and turned around to look as she backed out, and slammed on the brakes before she’d moved more than two inches.

Mrs. Frederic was standing serenely directly behind the car, looking completely unruffled by the fact that she’d nearly been run over. Myka set the emergency brake and stopped the car. She nearly strangled herself on her seat belt in her rush to get out of the car.

“Mrs. Frederic! Are you alright?”

Mrs. Frederic simply nodded sagely, and Myka couldn’t help but wonder if anything caused any other reaction. She couldn’t remember a time where the woman was anything but calm and collected, even when everyone else was in a panic. 

“What are you doing here?”

“You told Claudia that you needed to see me, did you not?”

Right. The text she’d sent Claudia last night. “I... I did. I just didn’t expect to see you so quickly. How did you know where I was?” The look Mrs. Frederic gave her and the tilt of her head informed her that that was a stupid question. “Right. Ok.”

Why did she suddenly feel like she was about to betray Helena? They weren’t lovers anymore. Myka didn’t _actually_ know where she lived, and for all she knew, Helena was gone from the city already. Myka had no ties to her, her memories and dreams notwithstanding. “Have you had any luck locating H.G. Wells?”

Mrs. Frederic clasped her hands in front of her. “Why do you ask?”

“Well,” she stammered, cringing slightly. “Pete told me that she escaped a few months ago, and said that I should be careful. Keep an eye out for her.”

“And?”

“And... she’s here. In Pittsburgh. At least, she was last night.”

“You know this how?”

She followed me to Starbucks, broke into my room, and kissed me twice after holding me half naked at gun point? “I saw her, yesterday. Downtown. And she tracked me down here somehow last night.”

“Why isn’t she in custody then?”

Myka could feel her face flush red as her eyes slid briefly to Mrs. Frederic’s body guard. “She... She broke into my room last night while I was in the shower, and when I got out, she had my phone, was holding my gun on me, and I was in a towel,” she answered in a rush, wondering where the nearest sand was so that she could bury her head in it.

“She managed to break in even after you saw her in the afternoon?”

“I had the door locked and the chain across it. She knows how to pick locks. And she’s good at it, I didn’t hear a thing.”

“Really.” Myka wasn’t sure she liked the way Mrs. Frederic was looking at it her. “What did she want?”

“I guess she was as surprised to see me as I was her. She came looking to see if we had discovered her there, or if it was just pure coincidence that I was in the city. She seemed satisfied with the coincidence idea, though she was somewhat disgruntled that she would have to leave.” Myka shrugged. “She likes it here?”

“And just what were you doing here, Agent Bering?”

“I was meeting with agents from the Pittsburgh field office, and a Professor at Carnegie Mellon who has a background in counterfeiting,” she replied defensively. “If you think I went looking for her...”

Mrs. Frederic waved her hand. “No, I don’t think that. I do find it strange though that, while she has been in contact with the Warehouse, she has not actively sought anyone out. Until now. Until you.” 

Myka heard the unasked question loud and clear. She could not answer it, though. She had no idea what Helena may or may not have said in those last days when she was being interrogated at the Warehouse. No idea if she’d said anything about Myka, made any mention of their relationship. She wasn’t about to acknowledge it now.

“Well. Please let us know if you see her again. She’s very good at hiding her whereabouts; this is the first sighting we’ve had on her in months. Good work, Agent Bering.”

She turned and walked away, bodyguard a close shadow, before Myka could question what work she’d actually done. 

Myka waited until Mrs. Frederic’s car was gone before getting back into her own. The conversation could have gone better. While nothing Myka had said was in anyway a lie, she could tell that Mrs. Frederic didn’t trust her completely. She knew it looked bad, a fugitive not only sought her out, twice, but she let her get away. Even though any sane person would agree that Myka was not in any sort of condition to chase her down and handcuff her to a railing with handcuffs she had locked away in Baltimore.

It was going to be a long drive back home.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Claudia was working on her homework for once, typing up some essay on some book she actually had read. When she signed up for the online classes, she’d thought they would be easier since she didn’t have to sit in classrooms all day. Who knew doing work on a computer would be so boring? Artie and Pete were off in LA tracking down some old pair of earrings, and Leena was out grocery shopping, so Claudia had the house to herself. It was a rarity, it being so quiet, and with her cell phone in her pocket, the Farnsworth where she could see it, and her headphones in her ears, she felt completely comfortable blocking out the rest of the world to write her paper.

Two pages in to her discussion of the effects of feminism on the modern critiquing of Charles Dickens and feeling ready to burn her eyes out, she took a break. Standing and stretching, she went into the kitchen for another cherry coke, and the box of cookies she knew Leena had hidden somewhere. Pete and Artie had yet to find them, as far as she knew, and she knew that Pete would have talked about it nonstop, so they should still be safe. 

With her iPod in her pocket, she danced her way to the kitchen, bouncing to the secret hiding place. She looked around to make absolutely sure no one was watching, and snatch the tupperware container. Holding it tightly with one hand, she filled a glass of milk and turned to head back to the living room. The last thing she expected to see was someone lounging in the doorway, and she dropped the glass and the cookies on the floor. In the back of her mind, she was thankful to be wearing shoes and jeans, so all she got was wet from the milk. The rest of her was frozen in terror at the sight of H.G. Wells leaning against the door frame, her hands shoved in the pockets of her long coat. 

“Please don’t kill me!” she whimpered, tugging the earphones from her ears. She backed up against the refrigerator, wishing that someone else would walk through the door, preferably someone with a baseball bat or a Tesla. 

Helena laughed, taking a step towards her. “I hope you never change, my dear Claudia,” she said, bending down to pick up the container of crumbled cookies. They had not fared well in the fall to the floor. She set them aside and came to a stop two paces from her. “How are you?”

“Uhhh... fine? Perfectly fine. Healthy, alive, fine,” Claudia answered quickly. “Artie will be back any minute, you know.” She didn’t believe her lie anymore than she could tell Helena did, but she prayed with all her might that it would come true.

“I think we both know that is not true, Claudia,” Helena said conversationally. “Besides, I’m not here for him.”

“You’re not?” Claudia squeaked.

“Of course not. I’m here for you.”

Claudia looked helplessly at the door, so far away. Why hadn’t she begged Leena to stay and keep her company? Or stowed away in Pete’s luggage? What made her decide that _this_ would be her time to be a good student? “I won’t help you break into the Warehouse.”

Helena chuckled, and the sound of it sent shivers of... something down Claudia’s spine. She couldn’t help it, the accent was all sorts of sexy. 

“Oh, you are a dear. If I wanted access to the Warehouse, I would be there now. As it happens, I honestly could care less about it.” 

Ok, that was unexpected. And unbelievable. “Then what are you doing here?”

“You still speak with Myka, yes? Even though she no longer lives here?”

Claudia hesitated before answering. It sounded like Helena already knew the answer to that question, and what would she do if Claudia lied to her? Helena, though evil, was not one to act irrationally. But who knew what the necklace was doing to her? Claudia could see a thin edge of silver tucked under Helena’s shirt. “Yes,” she finally answered truthfully.

“I’d like you to do me a favor...”

“Stay away from her!” Claudia interrupted, unknowingly sounding just as Pete had some months earlier. “She’s been hurt enough by this, just leave her alone.”

“That’s why I’m coming to you,” Helena purred, coming closer. “I know that while you live here, you can’t be in Baltimore keeping an eye on her. But she doesn’t look to be eating well, she’s lost weight she really can’t bear to lose. You should keep after her to eat more than those red sweets that she is forever nibbling on.”

“Wait, what?” Claudia sputtered. “How the hell do you know where she is?”

Helena just shrugged a shoulder and turned away. “I do hope that you will do as I ask. She will harm herself if she keeps on as she has been, with no one to look after her.” She lifted a hand and absently pulled out her necklace, tracing her thumb over the locket. “She punishes herself for something she would not have been able to change.”

Claudia watched her leave. She knew that she should be throwing a frying pan at her or _something_ to stop her and keep her there for Artie or the Regents or someone to deal with. But there was something about what she’d just said... Something in the tone, or the words themselves, that gave her pause. It had been wishful thinking, her idea about why Helena hadn’t struck the ground with the Trident that last time. Or so she’d finally come to believe. But what if she was right after all? Was this what Pete had been hiding from her all this time? And Myka? Because evil villains didn’t risk themselves simply to ask someone to take care of their enemy. 

She would need to dwell on this, and find a way to blackmail Pete into giving her the answers she wanted. But first, she needed to call Mrs. Frederic.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Mrs. Frederic was waiting patiently in the sitting room, drinking a cup of tea, while Claudia tried to sit calmly across from her. She’d called her once she’d recovered from the shock of Helena appearing in the kitchen, and an hour later, Mrs. Frederic had arrived to hear her story. Artie and Pete were recalled from Los Angeles, and they were in luck because they’d found the earrings and were headed home anyway.

Claudia started tapping her foot, only to stop at a look from Mrs. Frederic. She crossed her arms instead, and looked down. “Sorry.” Several more minutes of silence passed before Claudia peeked again and saw Mrs. Frederic, still completely placid, writing in a small notebook.

“Are you mad at me?” Claudia asked without thinking. 

“Why would I be mad at you?”

“Umm… because H.G. Wells was in the same room as me and I let her get away? Are the Regents going to punish me?”

“Claudia, you are not a Warehouse agent. Employee, yes, but no one expects you to capture a fugitive that not even…” Mrs. Frederic stopped there, for the first time looking as though she had said more than she planned to. “You will not be punished. And what you learned from your encounter will help us track her. She has developed a pattern, now. We can use that to catch her.” She said no more, and Claudia was too caught up in her own thoughts to notice the passage of time until the door to the house opened.

Pete and Artie were bickering good-naturedly, at least on Pete’s part, as they walked in the door. Artie’s surprise was evident when he glanced into the room as they went past, and he tugged on Pete’s sleeve to get his attention. “Mrs. Frederic! What are you doing here?”

“I have some things to discuss, Arthur.”

Claudia pulled the throw pillow to her and hugged it tightly. Why, oh why did Helena have to choose _her_ to talk to? 

Pete dropped his duffel bag by the stairs and followed Artie into the room. “What’s going on?” he asked, looking between Claudia and his boss’ boss.

“We’ve had a sighting of H.G. Wells,” Mrs. Frederic answered, crossing her legs.

“What? Where?” Artie sprang to his feet, ready to chase her down that very instant.

“In the kitchen.”

“Kitchen? What kitchen?”

“Here, Artie,” Claudia said as she rolled her eyes. “She was here. Five hours ago?”

“Are you ok? Did she hurt you?” Artie forgot his urge to go villain hunting and sat down next to Claudia, staring at her intently. 

“I’m ok. Broke one of Leena’s glasses, but otherwise, no harm, no foul.”

“What did she want?” Pete asked, drawing their attention. Artie looked confused, as though that question hadn’t occurred to him.

Claudia looked over at Mrs. Frederic, and the woman nodded at her slightly. It was her story to tell. 

“Myka. She wanted me to do something for her. She said that Myka wasn’t eating, and asked me to bug her from here about making sure she ate enough. And she knows that Myka’s in Baltimore. I don’t know how, but she does.”

“This is our second confirmed sighting of H.G. Wells in three weeks,” Mrs. Frederic added. “As I was telling Claudia, she has developed a pattern. I believe we can use it to find her, and determine whether or not she actually is under the influence of an artifact.”

Both Claudia and Pete winced at her words. They had not told Artie yet about their theory. Pete tried to bring it up a few times, but Artie’s reaction to the mere mention of Helena’s name had quickly put a stop to that, and so they only passed their idea onto Mrs. Frederic and Myka, hoping the former could perhaps break the news to Artie for them, and the latter would continue to be careful. But it had never happened; Artie never became obsessed with finding that artifact, and after a few weeks it was easier to try and verify it on their own. At least that’s what they told themselves. It would be better to bring him proof so that he couldn’t shoot them down than to bring him an idea that he would immediately ignore simply because of his hatred of the woman.

Their reaction did not go unnoticed. “Pete... What artifact is she talking about?” Artie’s voice had dropped to a low growl, and Claudia edged away from him. She needed a bigger pillow to hide behind.

“Claudia discovered an artifact from Warehouse 2 that may or may not be the necklace H.G. has her daughter’s locket on,” Pete mumbled. “She found it about a couple months ago. It’s been missing since just before they shut down the Warehouse.”

“Why didn’t you come to me with this? We already knew she has at least one artifact from Warehouse 13, I should have been told the INSTANT you found this! Who knows what she could be up to! Why do you two insist on being so irresponsible?” Artie paced the room, and pointed at Pete, his face red. 

“That’s enough, Agent Neilson,” Mrs. Frederic interrupted, her voice firm. “They came to me, because it has been clear from the very start the bias you have against H.G. Wells. It was my decision not to inform you until the matter could be investigated further. As it happens, we think they may have discovered something important.”

Artie pulled off his glasses and rubbed at his face. As he pinched his nose, he asked with forced calmness, “What artifact do you think she has?”

Pete, who had moved to Claudia’s side when Artie started his rant, nudged Claudia. “You are the one who found it,” he mumbled.

She shot him one pleading look, and then focused on the pillow. She picked at the seam. “Brutus’ necklace.” She summarized the history behind it quickly, not giving anyone a chance to question her. “It’s not the original necklace she had for the locket, she got it at an auction in London, about six months before she was bronzed.”

“That doesn’t make it an artifact, Claudia, just because she bought it somewhere. Do you know the likelihood of someone just buying an artifact? They are usually found, or find their way to a specific person. They don’t just sit out on a shelf somewhere, waiting for someone to buy them.”

“I told her that already, Artie. That’s not everything,” Pete replied, wrapping his arm around Claudia’s shoulders. “We’ve thought this through, what she found makes a lot of sense.”

Artie just crossed his arms, at stared at them.

“Every reference I could find said that whoever had the necklace would betray the person that meant the most to them. Helena started acting weird, and I’m paraphrasing what she told me, about six months before she asked to be bronzed, just about the time she got the necklace. Her obsession with trying to bring her daughter back may have been strong enough that it masked whatever other affects the necklace had on her, and she didn’t have anyone in 1903 that she cared enough about for the necklace to make her betray them. She did here.”

“It fits, Artie. In the end, who was the most affected by what H.G. did? I know you shot yourself, but it was Myka,” Pete said. He’d had a lot of time to think about this, and Myka’s reaction when he’d told her had helped sway his opinion. “As much as you refuse to admit it, they were... very close. And it was the strength of their relationship that saved Myka’s life. H.G. fought it, fought the artifact long enough to stop herself from shooting Myka. Nothing else could have gotten through to her, you said it yourself.” 

“The artifact is meant to cause the betrayal of one person, Arthur. That has been done. Everything she has done since then is... perhaps just the lingering affects. She had help escaping, one of the guards who was an escort. She found him later, tied him to a chair and left behind all the evidence of their collusion and what his plans were. We didn’t believe it when she wrote that she had no intention of following through with his plans to continue McPherson’s artifact auctions, but she has done nothing of the sort in the last four months. We’ve found several caches of stolen artifacts based upon that evidence, including the ones that we know James was attempting to sell. We just haven’t been able to find her.” 

Artie looked like he wanted to argue with her, but Mrs. Frederic’s face brooked no argument. 

Pensively, she continued. “We seem to be forgetting something. I myself am guilty of this, though I suppose it is to be expected. It is not simply a matter of Brutus’ necklace; we’ve forgotten about the Minoan Trident. While the staff was still hidden in Warehouse 2, she came across the part of the Trident she added to her daughter’s coffin in Paris. Maybe her work lead her to it, or the necklace did, or it lead her to the necklace. We may never know, but that artifact we know the purpose of- the destruction of the world. In my time here, we have never come across someone who has been influenced by two artifacts at the same time. The Regents have no record of this occurring in the past either, I am certain of that. We do not know what the conflict between those two influences can produce, or prevent. It is possible that _that_ conflict is what prevented Ms. Wells from killing Agent Bering.” 

Artie sat heavily on the couch. He looked torn, and Claudia could tell that he couldn’t decide whether to remain angry or to focus on this new problem. “We’ve… we’ve never come across bi-artifact possession,” he finally agreed. “James and I discussed it once, but with no reference point, we didn’t get very far in determining what the affects would be.”

“We have the timeline though,” Pete spoke up. “Somewhere in the six months before she was bronzed, she somehow found both the necklace and the Trident. The question is, then, did she go searching for the Trident? That’s what we need to find out. Maybe she came across the necklace and didn’t know what it really was, but what if her anger over Christina’s death drew her to the Trident? She could have planned all this and sought the Trident out, proving Artie right, or the Trident used her, just as the necklace did, and she didn’t know what she was doing.”

“Whichever it is, we need to find her. Verify the presence of the necklace, and move on from there. The Trident has been neutralized, which may be the very reason she has made no further attempts to infiltrate the Warehouse itself.” Mrs. Frederic nodded, pleased.

Claudia digested this new information, adding it to the questions she still had. “What did you mean, this was the second time she’s been seen?”

“It seems she appeared to Agent Bering much the same way she came to you, Ms. Donovan. Agent Bering was in Pittsburgh three weeks ago, and Ms. Wells saw her there and followed her back to her hotel room. From what she told me, Ms. Wells thought that we had found her in Pittsburgh, and broke into her hotel room looking for any evidence of that. Not finding any, she questioned Agent Bering briefly, and then left.”

That surprised all of them. “Myka let her go?” Pete asked, incredulous.

“Apparently, she was in the shower when Ms. Wells broke in, and when she came out,   
Ms. Wells had her weapon. She was not exactly... capable, at that moment, of apprehending her.”

The image, though startlingly similar in some ways to the events in Yellowstone, was surprisingly amusing, and Claudia tried not to laugh. “I guess H.G. would have been able to tell if Myka was eating enough, then.” The look Artie shot her had her focusing back on the pillow on her lap. “Sorry,” she muttered.

“H.G.’s contacted us numerous times since she got out, and each time, it has been about Myka. Mrs. Frederic’s right, we could use that,” Pete mused, leaning back against the couch.

“You want to use her as bait?” Artie actually seemed horrified at the prospect.

“She wouldn’t hurt her,” Claudia said slowly, mostly certain. 

“See? This is what I have been saying for months now! Do not believe anything that woman tells you. She cannot be trusted! If anything, Myka needs to be protected from her, not dangled in front of her like a mouse in front of a feral cat. That woman has been nothing but a nightmare from the moment Leena de-bronzed her. All she has done is try to rip this team apart, and she’s already succeeded once!”

“Then what do you want us to do, Arthur? Let her roam free for the rest of our lives, watching as she appears and disappears at will, under the influence of an artifact? This is what we do. We find evidence of an artifact, and we track it, and we neutralize it. If we can get to her, we can get the necklace, and then we will know. This whole story changes, if she indeed is being controlled by Marcus Brutus’ Necklace. She becomes as much a victim in this as you are. Whatever problems you have with her, because of your history with McPherson or otherwise, you need to let them go, or we will not solve this.”

Artie stared at Mrs. Frederic in stunned disbelief, before snatching up his bag and storming out of the house.

“That went over well,” Pete sighed, and Claudia nodded in agreement.

“He didn’t throw anything. That is always a good sign.”

“So what do we do now? Is she still in Pittsburgh?” Pete asked.

“We cannot find her in Pittsburgh, even knowing that she was there. There were no records of her, those people with the last name of Wells all were verified. We looked under possible aliases from her books, but we could not find anything. She has been very successful going underground. There was a large withdrawal from her accounts in London about eight months ago, but we cannot trace it any further, and she has changed nothing with regards to the trust she has set up for her daughter’s grave.”

“I think Myka is our best shot,” Pete offered. “She’s gone to her once already, maybe she will again. I mean, she knows where she lives, and if she is asking Claudia to keep an eye on her, then she may stick around to see how she is doing.”

“But who would watch her, Agent Lattimer? We don’t have enough Warehouse agents right now to assign a protective detail to Agent Bering and still carry out our mission.”

Pete grinned. “We have the Secret Service. That is what we do, after all. We can request one for her, say that there have been several threats made against her personally, stemming from her previous assignment. The Service takes threats against our own very seriously.”

Mrs. Frederic nodded and stood up. “I will speak to the Regents. I ask that you do not speak of this to Agent Bering until we have decided on a course of action. Claudia, if you want to do as she asks, you may, as it would be harmless to any plan we come up with. And, it may draw her out again, either here or in Baltimore, if she is indeed watching her.” She turned to look out the window. “And, keep an eye on Arthur. His bias has done as much to hinder this investigation as anything, and I fear that it will still be an issue as we bring this to a conclusion.”


	7. Chapter 7

One week later, Mrs. Frederic left Pete a message, “It has been done.” No other details, and all he could do was pray that Artie would not completely lose it when he was informed of their plan.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Myka found it sweet, if a little strange, how Claudia out of the blue would call her every couple of days. She was always recommending food, of the poor college student kind, that Myka should eat, even after Myka laughingly told her that if she lived on pizza and macaroni and cheese every day, she’d be the size of a whale. She did seem to get her appetite back after those conversations though, something that had been missing for the last few months. Maybe it wasn’t junk food, but her kitchen was finally seeing some use, and her mom seemed pretty happy to be asked for simple recipes every once in a while. Cooking was not her forte, but she could manage easy things, that didn’t take too many ingredients, or too much time.

When she jokingly complained during one phone call that Claudia was turning into a mother hen, the girl’s response was simply that she was now Myka’s personal Leena. Whatever it was, Myka found it a good distraction from the new annoyances in her life. Two weeks after her return from Pittsburgh, Matt had assigned her a security detail, based on threats he refused to divulge to her, and so she had two shadows everywhere she went. She wondered if this was how the president and his family felt with their details, now that she had to face being followed everywhere she went by two hulking guys in dark suits. Asking Claudia if the detail had to do with Helena had not produced any results other than that she would look into it, which probably meant that yes, it was her. It would have been so much easier if she’d been face to face with her; Claudia could not lie to save her life if she was talking to someone in person.

No one would tell her what the threats were about. She’d received nothing in the mail, over email, on her phone. She thought that maybe Helena had done or said something, but there were no more unexplained visitors since Helena’s visit in Pittsburgh, and she hadn’t heard a thing from or about her since. It really was a pain trying to do her job knowing that she had two people constantly only a few feet away, unless she was locked inside her house, and then one was watching her back door, and the other was parked right out front. Granted, it wasn’t like she was going out on any raids at the moment, but it was still awkward. She was even being guarded inside her office, something that had sent the gossips she worked with into a tizzy. It only revitalized the rumors about her that had finally started to die down.

Despite all that, she did her best to ignore it. If there were threats, there were threats. There was nothing she could do, except be vigilant. She wasn’t going to go into hiding. Her life had enough disruptions in it already for her to be willing to give up any more.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It had been remarkably simple for Helena to leave Pittsburgh. She didn’t rush, even as she saw over the next few days at least three men she identified as being connected with the Warehouse. She’d known that Myka would, in the end, not be able to hold back the fact that she’d stumbled upon her. No one identified her, however, and with that she was able to arrange for her belongings to be packed up and shipped down to Baltimore within the week. It had been a matter of much debate, just where she would be going next. She had been serious, when she spoke to Myka, about not going to Baltimore, but... She’d changed her mind. After all, who would actually expect her to willingly put herself in the path of someone who would as soon arrest her as anything, given half a chance.

Besides. This way, she’d be able to determine if Claudia had done as she’d asked. Her request had not been made lightly, nor had her travel plans to Univille been made without careful consideration of the risks. And it was a risk, appearing there, when Artie and Pete could have just as easily been in the house with Claudia. She had little doubt that they would be able to subdue her, even though she had been on her guard. She couldn’t really explain what made her go there, except that seeing Myka so thin had pained her. Women in these modern times were too worried about being thin, it was almost disgusting. She knew that had not been a concern for Myka, the woman would eat like a lion if given half the chance, but she had been disturbed by how prominent her bone structure was, and how loosely the towel had hung off of her.

If nothing else, being nearby to monitor the woman would give her something to do.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was a fairly quiet two months in South Dakota after H.G.'s impromptu visit with Claudia. Relatively speaking, of course. Pete spent three weeks in a wrist brace after a fight to retrieve Bill Pickett's favorite bridle, but that was the most eventful retrieval they had to deal with. The worst part about it was that he seemed to enjoy annoying the hell out of everyone around him. Otherwise, it was inventory. Endless inventory.

And research. Mrs. Frederic had ultimately tasked Claudia to conduct the search from the Warehouse for H.G. Wells, trying to pin-point the identity that she'd used in Pittsburgh and the money trail, and damned if she wasn't up against a brick wall. Claudia had to give the woman her props, she was doing a fantastic job of hiding in plain sight. There were a few times where she thought she had something, in Pheonix and then in Miami, but on both trips, they found nothing.

At least Myka was being careful. The day her new boss had assigned her a protective detail, Myka called Pete, and Claudia had to be impressed, Pete pulled of the act of not knowing what she was talking about quite well. Better, she thought, than she herself had done a few days later, when Myka had called her, exasperated about her boss' refusal to tell her just what threats had been made against her. 

For all their work though, they kept coming up empty. Artie was surprisingly calm about the situation; at least, he refused to comment when they had to delay their return from a retrieval to track down a potential lead. She could tell that he was still smarting over Mrs. Frederic's rebuke that day at Leena's, and had decided to just ignore the matter completely until it all came to a head. She just wished that there was more that they could do, because nothing would be fixed until Myka came home. Claudia knew that that would not happen until the issue with H.G. was cleared up, one way or the other.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Myka ignored her guards as she walked through the Baltimore Field Office doors, digging through her bag for her ID. She’d been distracted all afternoon after seeing one of the Regents sitting on the other side of the café where she had been having lunch. Her morning had been spent in the National Archives doing some background research that really could have been handled by one of the more junior agents, but apparently her reputation for details was still following her. Her mind had been on her research and so she hadn’t noticed right away the older Chinese man who came in. Something had made her look back as they left, and the man had met her gaze squarely. The rest of the day felt like a waste after that, and after fighting through DC traffic the last thing that she’d wanted was to realize she’d left her house keys in her desk. The perils of riding with her body guards; she hadn’t driven herself in weeks.

Brandon Maybury, one of the other senior agents in her task force, was still in there. She waved at him as she walked by towards her desk, her guards taking position by the doorway and the copier. 

“Hey, Myka?”

She looked up from the files she had in her in box to find Brandon standing on the other side of her desk. “Yeah?”

“You ever going to tell us why you have your own, personal detail going on?”

Brandon had been one of the few that didn’t gossip about her, or at least, if he did, he did it behind her back where she couldn’t overhear. The new agents really weren’t as circumspect as they thought they were. She pitied the people that they would eventually protect. They wouldn’t have dared asking her flat out, they just liked to talk about it as though they were the only people in any room.

“If I knew, Brandon, I’d tell you,” she replied with a small smile.

“You don’t know what the threat is?”

She shook her head, and set most of the files aside. “I don’t.” The rest, she shoved in her bag and grabbed her keys. “Matt got notified about it, and apparently it is one of those ‘need to know’ things they love to throw at us, where no one seems to need to know.”

“Surely you must have some idea… I mean, you disappear from everyone’s radar for two years and then return without any explanation, maybe it is something from then?” He smiled charmingly at her and she fought not to roll her eyes. Some people had no concept of subtlety; she’d expected more from him. 

“There are… a couple possibilities,” she acknowledged. “But who knows, they certainly won’t tell me. I’m sure once they are caught it will all make sense. Anyway, I gotta go. Back to DC tomorrow, so I’ll see you on Friday, ok?”

She walked off, waving back at him as her goon squad fell into step around her. As they stepped into the elevator, she turned to the older one on her right and asked, “You do know who you are looking for, right?”

He just looked blandly back at her and hit the button for the main floor.

“That’s something, at least.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was almost anticlimactic, in a way, when she was finally captured. It had been nearly two months since she’d relocated to Baltimore, and she had spent a good deal of time checking up on Myka, staying out of sight of the two men who seemed forever in her company. It amused her, this protection of hers, as they clearly were. They were so obvious, she had to wonder how they were at all effective. Their presence screamed “this is someone important! She is your target!” They had to be driving Myka crazy. Helena had little doubt that _she_ was their prey. She wondered whose idea it was. It was a trap, she was well aware of it. She could practically smell the Warehouse on it, though the agents themselves, she was fairly certain, were not.

It was raining the day that she finally decided it was time. There was nothing for her in this world, not anymore, and no amount of stalling or wandering around aimlessly was going to change that fact. She couldn’t have back the one thing she truly wanted, and without it, there was no point. Maybe this time the Regents would let her die, instead of leaving her alive, bronzed for all eternity. It would be a kindness, at least. She just wanted one last glimpse of Myka before she left, though. It would be two birds, one stone, as they say, to present herself to Myka and say good-bye, and let her guardians take it from there.

Helena had to laugh, as she followed Myka’s car into a parking lot. Of course the woman would spend a rainy Saturday afternoon in a bookstore. It seemed perfect. Out in public, amongst the people, Helena was less likely to be shot on sight. She was satisfied with that. She waited a few minutes, watching from her car as Myka and her shadows walked into the store. After five minutes, assured that she would not immediately depart, Helena got out of the car, pulled her knapsack out of the back seat, and followed them inside.

There was little point searching for Myka amongst the tall bookshelves. Helena crept along silently, looking instead for the taller of the two men, and at last she found them, in the science section. She hid herself for a moment, just around the corner of the shelf, and watched as Myka flipped through one book, read the back of another, and discarded yet another option. Her guards were alert, ready to leap into action but they also looked somewhat resigned to their charge, standing a few feet away from them. 

Myka really was such a beautiful creature. Helena regretted that they could not have become more than just the lovers they had been for those few short months. Myka’s passion, her beauty, her amazing intellect were just what Helena had spent her life searching for. How ironic that she would only find it a hundred years too late. She gave herself one more moment to look at her, burn the image of her into her memory, before she stepped around the corner. She only took two steps into the aisle, and waited for the guards to notice her. She watched the recognition dawn on them, and took one more step, raising her empty hands slightly into the air, and said quietly, ignoring the guards, “Hello, darling.”

Myka was getting pushed back even as she looked up and saw her. Both guards had their weapons drawn and trained on Helena as they stepped between the women. Helena didn’t resist as one of them took her bag away and pulled her arms down behind her back. She had what she wanted. One last glimpse of Myka, who looked as shocked to see her as she was the guards’ treatment of her. The other guard was ushering Myka away, speaking into a cell phone while the one who stayed behind did a quick search of Helena’s clothes. 

She ignored the stares of the other customers as she was led quickly out of the store and into a waiting black car. It all had a ring of familiarity to it, only this time, when the car finally stopped, it was not at the holding facility, but at an office building in downtown Baltimore. She was pulled inside, and was startled to see the emblem for the Secret Service on the wall of the elevator. She was led through a room full of desks to an office, and unceremoniously pushed towards a chair.

“Have I been arrested for something?” she asked the man in the grey suit who had followed them into the office, a smirk once again gracing her lips. “It is my understanding that my rights are to have been read to me, and I am to be told just what you have apprehended me for, and yet here I sit, in the dark.”

The man jerked his head at the guard who was still looming over her. He left, shutting the door behind him, and the man walked to within two feet of her. “Why were you threatening one of my agents?” he growled, one hand resting on the butt of his gun.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you are talking about. I have threatened no one.”

“Really. Then why did you follow her into the bookstore?”

“Everyone likes to read, do they not? I was simply shopping for a book, and ran into an old friend.” This was no fun, toying with him. He was too easy to read, a man who had to put one of his own people under guard but he had no idea what he was up against. She wondered how long this would go on before one of the Regents arrived.

In the end it was only a few minutes before they were interrupted, and Helena was as surprised as he was to see Myka standing in the doorway. “Do you mind if I join you, Matt?” Myka asked, ignoring Helena.

“Myka, you don’t need to be here. I’ve got this handled.”

“Respectfully, Sir, I do.” She closed the door behind her, and stepped between the two. “Mrs. Frederic is on her way, with Artie and Pete,” she said, speaking to Helena for the first time.

“What, no Regents? No special forces to ensure that I do not slip away again?”

Helena was startled when Myka just laughed at that and shook her head. A smile briefly touched her lips, but did not last. Matt moved away, and Helena wished that he would just leave them alone. It wasn’t meant to be, but she could dream.

“What were you doing, Helena?”

Helena pursed her lips and tilted her head to look up at her. “I wanted to say good-bye,” she said simply. 

“You followed me here from Pittsburgh, just for that? What were you planning to do?”

Helena shrugged, the effort hampered somewhat by her hands still behind her back. “As I told you once, I have no tether here, not without Christina, not without... There is nothing left for me, and I am so very, very tired.”

Myka stared at her, incredulous. “You really expect me to believe that all of this, was just so that you could go back? Helena...”

“I’m tired, Myka. I’m not fighting, I’m not plotting... I just want to be done. I wanted to say a proper good-bye this time, that’s all, before the Regents take me away to do with me what they will.” It was obvious from Myka’’s expression that she did not believe her, and she sighed, shifting in her chair. “Could you remove the restraints, please? It is rather awkward, sitting here under your gaze without the freedom to at least attempt to plea for my release.”

Myka snorted indelicately. “You’re under arrest, Helena. Handcuffs are a key part of that scenario. But you shouldn’t worry, those are not the same as the ones in London, you might find them a bit more difficult to free yourself from.”

“I have done nothing that you can arrest me for, Myka. I’ve committed no crime, I’ve made no threats against you or anyone else.”

“You escaped custody after… after causing the deaths of three young men, Helena!”

“Well, there is that, I suppose,” Helena conceded. “But I am no threat to you now. I was never a threat to you.”

“You held a gun to my head!”

“You are the one who put it there!” Helena retorted, taking absurd pleasure in Matt’s reaction as he jerked away from the wall and nearly fell over in surprise.

“Myka, just what the hell is going on here?” he asked, grabbing Myka’s arm and pulling her around to face him. Helena wanted to beat him for touching her like that.

Myka just shrugged him off. “Nothing. It’s none of your concern.”

“Not my concern? Agent Bering, for two months now I’ve had to take agents away from their normal duties to protect you from this woman, and now I find out that I have a suicidal agent on my hands?”

“I can’t discuss this with you, Sir.”

“This is my task force, and you are under my command. If you don’t tell me what is going on, I will have you brought up on report!”

“You do not have the authority to do that,” said a calm voice from the doorway. Helena twisted slightly in her seat, confirming the identity of the voice.

“Mrs. Frederic,” Myka breathed out, her relief evident.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

As luck would have it, Artie and Pete were in Annapolis, trying to sneak John Paul Jones’ saber out of the Naval Academy Museum when Myka called to say that H.G. Wells had been taken into custody by the Secret Service. One Farnsworth call to Mrs. Frederic, and ninety minutes later they were meeting her in the parking garage of the Baltimore Field Office.

“Are you certain they have her?” Mrs. Frederic asked as she stepped out of her car.

“Myka said that they did, and that she was coming here to make sure she didn’t find a way to get away.”

“Where was she found?” she asked, leading the way into the building. 

“Apparently, she walked right up to Myka in a bookstore north of the city,” Pete replied, flashing his badge at the guard. They were let on through with no question. 

“That is… unusual. That doesn’t fit the pattern,” Mrs. Frederic mused as they rode the elevator up. “She has been hiding for months now. If she has been watching Agent Bering, as we believe she has been, she knows that people have been guarding her. Why would she risk her own exposure?”

Artie stayed silent on the subject, as he had many times over the previous weeks. Having been shot down so thoroughly, when it came to the subject of H.G. Wells, he refused to become more involved in the conversations than he had to.

The elevator doors opened, and they could hear the yelling from across the large room, even if they couldn’t quite make out the words. Mrs. Frederic marched in that direction, and opened the door in time to hear Myka’s boss threaten her career.

“You do not have the authority to do that,” Mrs. Frederic answered for Myka, and Pete and Artie crowded behind her to look into the office.

“Mrs. Frederic,” they heard Myka say quietly. “You got here faster than I thought you would.”

“We were in the area,” Pete replied, waving at her.

“Thank you for your assistance, Agent Dalton. I will take it from here.” Mrs. Frederic dismissed him without another thought, and directed her next question to Myka. “Is there somewhere here that we may speak without being disturbed, and without surveillance?”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“Then, if you would, Agent Bering, lead the way. Arthur, Agent Lattimer, if you would escort Miss Wells?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

There was a secure teleconference room two floors up, and it was a silent procession up there as Mrs. Frederic’s body guard prevented Matt from following them into the elevator. If Artie’s grip on Helena’s arm was tight to the point of bruising, neither made mention of it. Myka spent a few minutes locking the room and ensuring that all recording devices were indeed turned off, while Pete undid one side of Helena’s hand cuffs and attached it to the arm of the chair Artie had unceremoniously led her to.

“If I may ask, what do you intend to do with me? Must it be bronzing again? Surely there is some other metal you could use this time, bronze gets so old after awhile. The smell never quite goes away,” Helena asked, mockingly.

“Agent Bering, if you would, the locket,” Mrs. Frederic ordered, gesturing towards Helena’s neck.

Helena didn’t quite understand what she meant until Myka stepped up behind her and brushed her hair over her shoulder. The cool fingers that brushed over her neck distracted her for a brief second, before she reached up with her free hand and grabbed for the necklace still under her shirt.

Artie came over and roughly pulled her hand away, and she felt the clasp give way and the warmth of the metal against her skin vanish. “You really would be this cruel, wouldn’t you,” she whispered, “to take away the only thing I have left of my daughter.”

Myka pressed her hand against the back of her neck for a moment, before stepping away, necklace in hand. Artie let go of her, but she remained still, frozen in her pain. She could only watch while Myka carefully removed the locket from its chain, and almost reverently set it down on the table. Pete pulled a small silver colored bag out of his pocket and handed it across the table to her. 

“What are you doing?” she whispered, even as Myka let the necklace fall into the bag.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

As Myka let the necklace slide through her fingers, she turned her face away and closed her eyes. When the sparks and popping and flash of purple light came, even though they had been hoped for, it was a surprise, and she honestly had no idea what to feel. Shock was evident on all their faces, except for Mrs. Frederic, who was nodding as though she’d known all along, and Helena, who had slumped over the arm of her chair.

“Helena!” she whispered, shoving the bag back into Pete’s hands and rushing to Helena’s side. She pressed her fingers to the side of Helena’s neck, and mumbled “Oh, thank God!” when she felt the steady pulse under the skin. Her other hand reached for and held onto the one that was still handcuffed to the chair. “Helena?” she repeated, louder, patting her cheek lightly. 

The woman in the chair whimpered and blinked open her eyes. Myka felt her try to raise her captive hand, and she tightened her grip on Helena’s fingers. “Helena?”

“What… What’s going on?”

Mrs. Frederic laid a hand on Myka’s shoulder and tugged her out of the way. Myka moved to give her room, but did not let go of Helena’s hand, which now was firmly latched onto her own. 

“Agent Wells, what is the last thing that you remember?”

“I don’t… I don’t know. Everything is blurry, it doesn’t make any sense. What happened?”

Mrs. Frederic ignored her question. “The last clear thing you remember. What was it? What were you doing?” When Helena shook her head, her eyes wild, she caught Helena’s chin in her hand. “Think, Ms. Wells!”

Helena’s eyes raced around the room, and landed on Myka. “Myka... I was with Myka. Everything after that is blurry.”

“Where were you?”

Helena just shook her head again and tried to pull away. 

“Helena, look at me!” Myka ordered, her voice sharp. “Look at me, focus on me,” she repeated, quieter. When Helena’s eyes met hers cautiously, she smiled. “Where were we?”

“I don’t know! We had a... a vase, a pale green vase, and you joked about how I needed to bring you roses for your birthday. Everything after that is a jumble.”

Myka sat back on her heels took her first full, calm breath in months. She felt tears well in her eyes, and she willed them back. 

“Agent Bering?”

She bit her lip, and looked down at the hand she was still holding. “That was the night before we left Seattle, when we were getting that Liao Dynasty vase. A month before we went to Egypt.”

“Claudia said that the money transfers happened a week after that,” Artie added, his voice subdued. He was holding the sealed bag in his hands, staring at it as though he had never seen one before. “Something must have triggered the necklace, some event or phrase or something, to make her put this plan into action at that time.”

“But what would have done that?” Pete asked, to no one in particular. “The necklace causes betrayal, right? Nothing we did on that trip had anything to with betrayal. That artifact attracted those creepy giant spiders, I mean, come on.”

“Agent Lattimer is right, nothing about that seems to fit with what we know of the necklace. We will have to research this, perhaps there is more in its history that Claudia has simply not uncovered yet.” Mrs. Frederic reached out her hand and Artie helped her up. 

“I know what triggered it,” Myka said softly. She carefully pulled her hand way. She let her fingers brush the tears that trickled down Helena’s cheeks, and turned away.

The others stopped what they were doing and looked at her, incredulous. “What do you mean, you know?” Artie finally sputtered.

“That night, in Seattle. Claudia said that the necklace causes the wearer to betray the person they were closest to, right? Someone who meant something to them?” Pete nodded, and Myka hugged herself. Everything had finally settled into place. “She said that she loved me, that night. It was the first time we said it to each other. I mean, I was the one she ultimately betrayed, right? The timing fits, her memories fit. When she said that, admitted that, she had that final piece the necklace needed her to have, someone worthy of betrayal. It couldn’t just be the Warehouse, it had to be a person. It had to be me.”

She turned to look at the captive woman, who did not appear to be paying any attention to the conversation around her. “That’s the only explanation that makes sense. Once she... left us in Warehouse 2 and tried to use the trident, it didn’t matter that in the end she didn’t destroy the world. She’d already betrayed me, and she’s been wandering around until now, still affected by the mere presence of the necklace but without any particular outlet.”

“I think Agent Bering may be onto something. We don’t know what the long term effects of exposure to the necklace are, but it would explain the odd behaviors you have been reporting, Agent Lattimere.” Mrs. Frederic strode to the door. “I will speak with the Regents. I recommend contacting Dr. Calder and having her do a full assessment of her. And Arthur...”

“Yes?”

“Remind yourself that she is just a much a victim in this as any other person held hostage by an artifact.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Myka walked beside her down to the parking garage, letting Helena lean on her when needed. The dizziness that hit her when she first opened her eyes was still there, along with the tidal wave of images and sounds that made no sense but left her feeling weak and nauseous. She still had no idea where she was or what was going on, but she’d been promised an explanation once Dr. Calder arrived. Artie was even surprisingly pleasant as he said that, and were she feeling better she would have questioned his attitude. As it was, she left it alone until her other questions were answered.

As soon as she was seated in the car, Helena closed her eyes. Her head was pounding with the beat of a hundred drums. As such, it was not until they’d arrived at the hotel that she realized that Myka was not with them. It became increasingly clear that perhaps she never had been when they detoured to the front desk to arrange for a room for Helena to spend the night in. She wondered if by chance she had simply imagined her presence, even though it had appeared to her that the others were interacting with her as well. When they traveled, they had always shared a room, and she could think of few reasonable explanations for the change.

Once upstairs, the two men helped her to her room. Artie left soon after, leaving behind a knapsack that she vaguely recognized and a promise to return with the doctor upon her arrival. Pete fussed over her for a moment, and then took his leave as well.

“Pete, where’s Myka?” she asked him quietly as he reached the door and waved to her over his shoulder.

He turned to look at her, a troubled look on his face. “She doesn’t work for the Warehouse anymore, Helena,” he replied, and she felt that like a punch to her stomach.

“What? Why?” She pushed herself up off of the bed she’d been sitting on, and fell back onto it as another wave of dizziness overtook her. “What’s going on, Pete? What happened to me?”

“Get some sleep,” he said, avoiding her questions. “I’ll be back with Artie and Vanessa soon.”

As much as she wanted to follow him and badger him with questions, Helena found that the effort to even keep her eyes open was exhausting her, and she gave in, if only for a moment. “Oh, alright,” she agreed, closing her eyes. “But, I expect answers.”

She barely heard, in a voice so soft she wondered if she imagined it, “Yeah. So do I.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Pete left Helena’s room, and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. He looked across the hall at the room he was sharing with Artie. Shaking his head, he turned and headed for the elevator. There was a small park on the other side of the street, with a view of the front and side exits in case this was all a game, and benches. He sprawled out on one, and tossed the phone between his hands for several minutes. He opened it, pressed a few buttons, and put it to his ear.

It rang several times, but he let it go on. After the tenth ring, it was answered. “Hi,” Myka answered, her voice no more than a whisper. 

“Are you ok?”

There was silence on the other end, but Pete sat patiently. He was not going to push, not this time. It was Myka, and besides, he knew all he needed to know already. 

“I don’t know.” 

He could imagine her, curled up on her bed, holding her stuffed bear to her. He could understand the need for comfort, even if it came in the form of a childhood toy. It had not exactly been an easy year, for any of them. 

“She asked about you. Why you weren’t here.”

He heard Myka draw in a rugged breath, and then another. “What did you say?”

“Just that you no longer worked with us.”

“Ok.”

He kicked at the grass and switched his phone to his other ear. “I think you should be here when we talk to her. Doc Vanessa will be here in a couple of hours, and I think it would help her. Maybe even help you.”

“Pete...” There was a long pause, and this time the silence worried him. “I don’t think I can.”

“Myka...”

“I can’t. Not now...”

“Are you sure?”

“Maybe not ever? I... I need to stay here, Pete. I can’t go back. Not now.”

“Ok.” He was not going to argue with her on this. “Call Claudia, though? She misses you.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I will. Good-bye, Pete.”

“Bye.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

_She wanted to do it. She really, really did. At that moment, standing there with the trident in one hand and a gun in the other, she wanted nothing more than to pull the trigger and watch Myka fall, the last of her problems just disappearing in one puff of smoke. It would be the icing on the cake, to use that strange American turn of phrase, to watch her plan come to fruition and to ruin that absurd little team that could barely tie their own shoe laces._

_She tightened her finger, and watched as Myka’s eyelashes fluttered just once._

_“I want you to look me in the eyes as you take my life.”_

_She pulled the trigger._

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Helena woke violently, the sound of the gunpowder exploding horrifically loud in her ears. “No,” she cried, even as the image of Myka standing there with a gun to her head, a gun that Helena gladly held, burned into her memory.

She didn’t hear the knocking on her door, and it was only the light from the hallway as the door was opened that caught her attention. She didn’t register right away Pete and Artie quietly walking in, followed by the blonde doctor. She was too busy rushing to the bathroom, her stomach rebelling. She made it just before the meager contents of her stomach forced their way up, and it was only when she felt a cool hand against her forehead as she sobbed against the side of the toilet that she realized that someone had followed her in.

The hand moved to the back of her neck, brushing her hair away. The touch felt familiar, but different, and any thought she might have had about it vanished when a cool, damp cloth replaced it. 

“Any better?”

The owner of the hand joined her on the floor, and the slight tilt of her head to confirm the identity made her head spin again. She closed her eyes once more.

“I killed her,” she sobbed out, gasping for air. 

Dr. Calder ran her fingers through Helena’s hair, holding it back over her shoulders when she started dry heaving again. Helena’s tears rendered her incoherent, and it was more than twenty minutes before Dr. Calder was able to convince her to sit up. The washcloth wiped gently at her face, and Helena leaned into the touch for an instant, before pulling away from the comfort it provided. She didn’t deserve comfort. She didn’t deserve care. She was handed a toothbrush that she didn’t recognize, and half-heartedly brushed her teeth, refusing to look in the mirror as she did so. 

“Are they out there?” she asked, when there was nothing else to do but leave the small, cramped room.

“Yes.”

She rinsed her hands one last time. “All right then.”

The lights were on in the main room, and Helena could see the twisted sheets and rumpled pillows that were the only evidence of the horrors she witnessed in her sleep. They fortified her, somehow, and before anyone could say a word, she said, her voice steady and quiet, “I want to be bronzed again. Forever. Bronzed, and put in the Dark Vault, and forgotten about. I know I have no say in what will happen to me, but this is for the best.”

“H.G., what happened wasn’t your fault! That’s part of why we’re here, just like we promised.” Pete approached her, and she stumbled back away from him.

The vision of Myka and the gun, Myka falling, lifeless to the ground, ran through her mind once more and she pressed her hands to her face in a useless attempt to block it out. “How can you say it’s not my fault?” she screamed, the pain and torment clouding her words. “I killed her, Pete! I pressed a gun to her head and I pulled the trigger and I killed her! I don’t deserve to live!” Her knees, shaky to begin with, gave out and she collapsed to the floor. “I don’t deserve to live,” she repeated, the tears that had abated in the bathroom returning anew.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Pete watched, helpless, as Helena’s fragile calm dissolved into anguish. Dr. Calder was beside her, an arm around her shoulders, but it was Artie who knelt before her and pulled her hands away.

“Look at me,” Artie ordered, the anger and mistrust that had plagued the entire time he’d known Helena conspicuously absent. “Helena, look at me.”

Red-rimmed eyes, tears overflowing them to run down her cheeks, met his. “Myka is fine. She’s alive, she’s healthy, you didn’t hurt her.”

“No,” Helena hiccuped, shaking her head. “I keep seeing it, it’s the only thing I can see. I killed her!”

“You didn’t,” Artie insisted. “You’ve been in possession of an artifact since... since before you were bronzed a century ago, and it made you do things.” He tightened his grip on her wrists. “Things you never would have done without it. Yes, you were prepared to kill her, to kill us all, _but you didn’t do it_. You stopped yourself. You fought it. You didn’t hurt her.”

But Helena wasn’t hearing him. She didn’t see him, either, though she was looking right at him. Her eyes were focused inward, on the horrors that her mind was telling her were real, but her heart couldn’t believe. 

“Do you have anything that would snap her out of this?” Artie asked Vanessa, who was rubbing Helena’s arms soothingly.

“I have smelling salts in my bag,” she offered. “But I think the best thing for her would be to see Agent Bering. From what you described of her capture, once the artifact was neutralized she had little interaction with her. She is so overwhelmed right now that she won’t believe a word you tell her.”

“I called her, earlier,” Pete said from his seat on the bed. “She said she didn’t think she could handle being here. Seeing her.”

Vanessa sighed, and held out her hand. “Let me speak to her.”

Pete dialed the number and handed her the phone. Artie, who still had hold of Helena’s hands, watched as Vanessa raised her eyebrows at the sound of Myka’s voice through the phone, her expression thoughtful. 

“We’re in room 514,” she said, and hung up the phone. She looked between the two men as she set the phone aside. “She said she would be here soon.”

A few minutes later, they heard a quiet tapping at the door. Helena’s sobs had subsided to mostly quiet tears, and she’d curled into Vanessa’s body as a shield. Pete, after a pleading look from Artie, got up to answer it. 

Myka was standing there, hands tightly clasped in front of her, her eyes red and swollen, the bruises underneath further evidence of her own sleepless night. “That was fast,” he commented, leaning against the door.

She didn’t enter immediately, simply look down at the ground. “I was in the lounge. I couldn’t sleep, so I drove here about two hours ago, and hid when I saw Dr. Calder arrive. How is she?”

Pete realized that he was blocking her view of the room, and stepped back. “Not good. She’s… well, upset is putting it very mildly. She thinks she killed you, and nothing we’ve said has made any difference.” He gestured to the women on the floor. “Wherever she is in her head, she’s trapped there.”

Myka looked beyond him, and a pained expression crossed her features. She took two steps into the hotel room, enough for Pete to close the door behind her. “Can you give me a few minutes?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Myka crossed the room. Dr. Calder looked up at her, and Myka’s heart hurt when she saw the way the Helena was clinging to her. Artie looked up at her, and she jerked her head towards where Pete was still standing by the door. He set Helena’s hands down on her lap gently and pushed himself up, and Myka, after a second’s hesitation, took his place. Helena was turned half away from her, and she reached out one hand and curled it lightly around Helena’s elbow.

“Helena,” she murmured. 

Vanessa carefully tried to extricate herself. “Helena, look.” 

Myka tugged lightly on Helena’s arm, and the other woman turned her head, red eyes blinking in her direction. Her eyes widened and she backed away, frantic. 

“No!”

“Helena!” Myka scrambled after her, kneeling beside her as Helena pressed herself against the wall, hands covering her eyes.

“No... Why are you torturing me with this?” Helena cried, as Vanessa, Artie and Pete tried to stay out of the way. 

“Helena!” Myka yanked her hands away. “Look at me, Helena! I’m here, I’m right here!”

The panic on Helena’s face was scaring her. She just kept shaking her head and refused to look at her. At a loss for what to do, Myka caught Helena’s face in her hands and kissed her. 

Helena tasted of salty tears and toothpaste, and after freezing for the first thirty seconds, she kissed Myka back. They lost themselves for a few minutes in the taste of each other, in the mating of tongues and lips and breath. When Myka pulled back, she ran her hand over Helena’s hair, brushing it off her forehead, and rested against her. “I’m right here.”

“I... I saw it,” Helena whispered, her breath ghosting over Myka’s lips. “I saw you die.”

“I know you did. But I’m here.” Her thumb wiped at the tear tracks beneath her eyes. “You need to listen to them, ok? It won’t be easy, but you should listen to what they have to say.”

“Are you going to be here?” Helena reached up and covered Myka’s hand. “I don’t quite believe you’re real.”

Myka hesitated, and then nodded. “I’ll be here.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Their last two days in Maryland, Dr. Calder stayed with Helena while Artie and Pete obtained the artifact they were there for. Myka did not return after that first morning, and Helena appeared to accept her decision, or at least, she didn’t question it in front of the others. The headaches were still debilitating, and the memories that accompanied them were still somewhat skewed from what she had been told, but with the truth in hand, the panic attacks faded away. Dr. Calder monitored her religiously, and several times Helena overheard her discussing her condition over the Farnsworth, to Mrs. Frederic or one of the Regents, she could only assume. She could not imagine any fate for herself other than being replaced in the Bronze Sector, or perhaps the Dark Vault. It didn’t matter what Pete, and even Artie, said about it not being her fault, that it was the artifact. She could not accept that her slate would be wiped clean.

Before they flew back to South Dakota, the motley band of four stopped by an apartment building in Baltimore that, according to what was stored in her knapsack, was where Helena had been living for at least a month. Pete and Artie accompanied her inside, and she wandered the rather sparse rooms. In the end, she only took back the clothes, and two books. Everything else she said they could do with what they willed. She wanted no part of anything remaining from her months on the run. 

She spent the flight staring out the window at the passing clouds. She didn’t dare sleep, not after the violent ways she’d woken every time she tried. The dreams she had were the warped memories, always ending in death for those around her. She was perpetually plagued with the images of Myka, dead in what she assumed was Warehouse 2 or in the middle of a forest, the victim of Helena’s deranged plans. Without Myka’s presence, it was at times a losing battle to remember that Myka was in fact alive. She wanted to find her, and cling to her for the rest of her days, as much as she wanted to hide her face in shame. 

But Myka was gone. In that quiet evening Myka had spent with her after the details of the last seven months were put before her, Myka had told her that she would not be returning to the Warehouse. She seemed almost apologetic, even as she was firm on her position. She gave very little explanation in response to Helena’s questions, and though Helena considered pressing the issue, she did not. It was Myka’s decision, as it had always been, and Helena had no right after all she’d done to expect Myka to come back, just for her. As it was, she had no expectations that she would be allowed to return to her work at the Warehouse as anything other than a new decoration. 

In that, however, she was proved wrong. Mrs. Frederic was waiting for them at Leena’s, along with an older man that greeted Dr. Calder warmly. He was introduced as Dr. Daniel Fisk, a psychologist, one assigned to the Warehouse for those times when the agents found themselves overwhelmed by their task. He wasn’t the one Pete had dealt with, she learned later. He was there for her. The Regents had apparently made the decision to allow her to stay on as an agent, provided she partake of counseling sessions. Her duties would be restricted to the Warehouse itself, much as Pete had been, until she was cleared for full duty, if she so desired. There would be no punishment, no bronzing, no matter how much she found herself arguing for it. Her vehemence in demanding that she be punished for her deeds surprised even Artie, not that anyone paid it the slightest bit of attention.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who has read this :) I hope that you have enjoyed this journey!

It had taken nearly all of her twenty two years, but Claudia finally had a puppy. A quiet, depressed, six inches taller than she was puppy, but a puppy none the less. In the five weeks since Pete and Artie had returned with the de-artifacted H.G. Wells, the woman, when she came to the Warehouse, spent her time quietly following Claudia around on her chores, assisting without question and constantly looking as though she expected to be punished at any moment. It was a far cry from the energetic and charming woman Claudia had come to know a year earlier, but she didn’t remark on it. To Helena, anyway. Dr. Calder and Mrs. Frederic had tasked her with ensuring that Helena took it easy and attended her three times a week appointments with Dr. Fisk, and to notify them if there was any change in her condition or personality. The woman was under nearly constant supervision, but she did not seem to care. 

The only person who was not monitoring her was, surprisingly, Artie. At least, not the way Claudia expected. One afternoon a couple days after their return, Leena mentioned off-handedly that Artie was wandering around the second floor of the inn that morning, while everyone else was at the Warehouse doing inventory. Claudia went upstairs, curious, and found him disconnecting and removing the motion sensors he’d installed in Helena’s room what felt like a lifetime before. He was not pleased to see her watching him, so Claudia just hugged him, patted him on the head, and left.

During that time, the only interest Helena showed in anything was if Claudia happened to mention Myka. The former agent had followed through on her promise Pete, and Claudia herself months earlier, and once or twice a week Claudia would get a phone call. Though Myka never asked after anyone in particular, much of those conversations were taken up with updating her on Warehouse gossip. It was easy to slip in the unrequested information about Helena and allow Myka to maintain the illusion that she wasn’t interested. Claudia would then wait until dinner to inform the rest of her conversation. As the weeks went on and Helena came out of her near silence to try to subtly fish for more, Claudia was more than happy to oblige.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

**October**

The weather turned, and the first snow came on a blustery late October evening. Helena curled up on the couch, staring at the fire. She remembered doing this the previous fall, listening to the crackle of the burning wood, Myka’s warm body pressed against her own. Weeks after their first kiss, just seated together, absorbed in their books and in each other. She wondered what Dr. Fisk would have to say if she told him that. The man was insufferable, and reminded her of Sigmund Freud, that ludicrous professor of the mind who had been in the news most of her young life. He wanted her to talk about her time under the influence of the necklace, and she just wanted to forget it. The memories didn’t even feel like memories any longer, just bad dreams, gap fillers for the parts of her life that she could recall clearly.

_“Why do you insist on asking me the same questions every day? You’ve heard the story a hundred times by now, it hasn’t changed!”_

_Fisk just watched her, face devoid of emotion. “Because you refuse to go any deeper into what you are feeling. It will only help you to relive it, to understand what happened and what it makes you feel.”_

_“I don’t want to do that. I just want to get on with what little is left of my life!”_

_“But you aren’t, are you? You refuse to look any further than what you did. You don’t understand that it wasn’t you.”_

It was the same thing, day after day, until Helena thought that she would go mad. Her headaches were finally gone, she could function without having someone nearby to catch her if she passed out. She much preferred to spend her days wandering the Warehouse, verifying the artifacts and assisting Claudia with her schoolwork. It was all mind numbingly boring, but it passed the time, and it kept her from thinking about things she didn’t care to think about. If there were moments throughout the day where she thought of Myka, and what she was doing, and how she was, well, there was always something around to distract her.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

**November**

Myka finished up the presentation she was working on and set it to print. She waited a few minutes for the forty seven pages to print out, stapled them, and headed toward her boss’ office. Matt had never quite forgiven her for the situation with Helena, from not letting him in on what she was being pursued for to helping her just walk out of the building a free woman. As it were. Their working relationship had been rocky at best for the last several months, and she’d had to settle for doing a lot more of the grunt work that was usually given to the new Agents, not senior task force leaders. She still had two years though before she would be up for a transfer, so she spent a great deal of time gritting her teeth and getting on with her work. To do anything else would just make her already precarious position even worse. 

She knocked once on the door and walked in. Matt was sitting at his desk, reading over something, and didn’t bother looking up when she came in. She stood there for a few seconds, fought the urge to roll her eyes, and held out the packet. “I’ve finished the presentation you asked for on the Peruvian counterfeit.”

“Just leave it on the desk, I’ll get to it.” He still didn’t look up, just waved his hand vaguely towards his in box.

She fought down the sarcastic retort that sprang to her lips, and set the papers down. From behind her, there was another knock on the door, and she opened it, prepared to let them in and just go home.

“Ahh, Agent Bering. You are here. Good. I need to speak with you as well.”

“Mrs. Frederic! What are you doing here?” One of these days, Myka would not be shocked when Mrs. Frederic appeared out of nowhere. Really, she should be used to it by now. She stepped back and the woman breezed past her, silent bodyguard right behind her.

“What are you doing, barging into my office? I’ve about had it with you…” Matt yelled, his face red. He stormed out from behind his desk, only to be stopped by the body guard, who stepped in front of Mrs. Frederic and held out a hand in time for Matt to run into it and bounce off. 

“Quiet,” Mrs. Frederic ordered, and more out of surprise than anything, he actually did.

“I have orders for one of your agents. They are being transferred to me, effective immediately.” She handed over a file labeled “Top Secret” and Myka could have sworn she saw a glimmer of amusement in her eyes when Matt opened it to see several pages, almost all of them blacked out.

“What the hell are you talking about?” His eyes flickered to Myka and back to the orders.

“Mrs. Frederic, I resigned…” Myka started, quieting when the older woman raised a hand.

“I know, and I have respected that. However, these come from a higher authority than even I. They want you back.”

“But…”

“Your talents are being wasted here, Agent Bering. We have been following your work and it has been impeccable, as always. But this is not the place for you. We need you.”

“I…”

“You cannot just come in here and take one of my agents! How do I even know that these are real? They don’t even come from our human resources department.”

“Of course they don’t,” Mrs Frederic replied mildly. “They come from somewhat higher up the chain of command than your tiny office in Alexandria. I suggest you reread the first page, Agent Dalton, before you start something you will soon regret. You have wasted the opportunity you had with a brilliant agent, on petty grievances and lack of foresight. She is better suited elsewhere, with us.”

Despite herself, Myka reveled in the compliments, so rare and treasured. “When do you need me to be there?” she asked, giving in to the inevitable.

“The day after tomorrow will be fine. Your plane tickets will be delivered to you this evening.” She turned towards the door, stopped as she opened it. “We are looking forward to having you back, Agent Bering. You have been greatly missed. By everyone.”

The small office was silent once the door closed. Myka decided for once not to hide her smirk at the expression on Matt’s face, and she shook her head slightly. “Well, I guess that is it, then, Sir. I wish I could say that is has been fun, but I think we both know that I would be lying.” It was petty, and not at all like her, but after all the hell that she had had to deal with for the past three months, she deserved it. Besides. She needed to go. She had packing to do. And she needed to get it done before she had the chance to talk herself out of this.

Because honestly, what the hell did she think she was doing, going back to the Warehouse?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was a sign of how out of touch with the real world she truly was, that Myka had forgotten about Thanksgiving. She didn’t watch the television much anymore, or have time to read the newspapers, so when the pilot of her flight from Baltimore to Minneapolis took a moment before take-off to wish everyone a Happy Thanksgiving, it took her completely by surprise. She spent a good portion of the flight debating if this had been intentional on Mrs. Frederic’s part, an unsubtle remark on the importance of family and being together for the holidays. She had trouble imagining Mrs. Frederic as a sentimental person. But, she knew that the woman cared about her agents, and she had a soft spot, as they all did really, for Claudia.

It wasn’t until she was driving from Rapid City that the small part of her mind that had been kicking and screaming for two days finally got a hold on her. She had, to that point, managed to ignore the implications of her return to the Warehouse, when it came to one H.G. Wells. She knew from her chats with Claudia that the author and erstwhile agent was recovering slowly from her experiences, and while she was nowhere near the same as she was before Egypt, she was no longer the panicked woman afraid of her own mind. Of everyone, Claudia spent the most time with her, having been appointed her unofficial guardian and monitor, and for all the talking that she did, Claudia had not really been able to give any more details about Helena’s well-being. There was an occasional “oh, by the way, Helena and Pete say ‘hi’” at the end of a conversation, but there was not much else to be said. On that front, Myka had no idea what she was getting herself into.

She stopped first at the Warehouse, where she found no other cars parked. Her old pass code, she knew, had been deactivated when she left, and she didn’t have a Farnsworth, so there was nothing else for her to do but head straight for Leena’s. She considered calling any one of them to give them a heads up, but she figured Mrs. Frederic had to have told them at least that _someone_ new was coming. No one at the Warehouse dealt well with surprises anymore. Myka and Pete learned that one the hard way on Artie’s birthday their first year, when Claudia nearly gave him a heart attack.

The main floor lights were all on at Leena’s as she pulled up, and she hesitated after she got out of the car. It wasn’t quite dark enough yet for headlights, so when Leena didn’t appear right away, she figured no one noticed that she was there. She tried to move forward, but for one long moment, her feet refused to move, and she was stricken with a paralyzing fear at what she was about to do. All the things she had avoided thinking about since Mrs. Frederic found her in Baltimore came roaring back. Her insecurities, her disillusionment, her pain. How could she even think about coming back, about facing all of them. About facing Helena.

Another light came on upstairs, a warm glow through the curtains, and it was enough of a distraction to get her moving again. She made it to the front door and knocked. The time for hesitation had come and gone. She had been gone for nearly a year, never imagined that she would herself back here again, and now, she sincerely hoped that this was the last time she ever had to knock on this door.

The door opened, and there was Claudia, laughing as she was still facing into the house. A little out of breath, she turned to Myka, a cheerful yet questioning “hello?” passing her lips before she even saw who it was.

“Hey, Claudia,” Myka said, her hand half raised in a wave.

The happy grin on Claudia’s faced vanished for a moment, only to return as she squealed “Myka!” and jumped at her. 

Myka staggered back, laughing, as she fought to stay upright with an armful of Claudia. “Happy Thanksgiving,” she said, trying unsuccessfully to untangle herself from the spider monkey that was Claudia Donovan. 

“You’re here! Like, you’re here! Oh my God!” Claudia suddenly pulled away and grabbed her hand, yanking her back into the house. “Guys! Guys! Look what I found!” 

They came to a stop in the back room, which was elegantly decorated for a feast. Leena was setting down one last dish, while Pete was opening a bottle of sparkling grape juice and Artie was sitting in the corner reading a file. 

“I found her on the front porch, can we keep her?” Claudia asked, practically bouncing into the room. 

Pete looked up from his task and nearly dropped the bottle he was holding. “Myka?”

“Hey, Pete,” she greeted, wishing she could make his look of disbelief go away. They hadn’t spoken more than a handful of times in the last three months.

Artie just waved from his corner. “Welcome back, Myka,” was all he said, his attention still on his paperwork.

“Yeah, welcome back! You are back for good right? Because you know I’m not going to let you leave again wait what did you mean, ‘welcome back?’” Claudia interrupted herself, rounding on Artie. “Did you know about this?”

The look on her face had Artie inching back in his chair. “Mrs. Frederic informed me yesterday about her reassignment to the Warehouse, yes.”

“You knew and you didn’t tell me? Artie!” Claudia stalked up to him and punched him in the arm.

“Surprise?” Artie replied with a wince as he rubbed at his arm. 

“So you are back for good then?” Pete asked, wrestling the cork out of the bottle.

“It seems that way, yeah,” she answered, shoving her hands in her jeans pockets. 

“Are you sure?”

“Of course she is sure! Why wouldn’t she be sure?” Claudia answered for her, bounding back over and hugging her again. “You are sure, right?” she whispered in Myka’s ear.

Myka held her tightly. “I’m sure. I promise.”

“It certainly got lively in here while I was upstairs,” came a voice colored in forced casualness from behind them. “Do we have company?”

Claudia pulled away from Myka and let her turn to face the voice. She stopped moving just as Helena stepped into the room. “I don’t know if you would call me that, but maybe?” she said in way of greeting. 

“Myka.” 

“Hi, Helena.” It felt like it had been an eternity since she’d taken in the sight of her, not since that day in the hotel in Maryland. The last time she’d seen her, Helena had been curled up in bed, exhausted from trying to fight the painful headaches and deal with the knowledge of what she had done. Now, she looked just as beautiful as she always had, though her eyes were more haunted, and she was much thinner than Myka remembered. 

They were saved from the awkward attempt at conversation by Leena’s return to the room with an extra place setting. When she left and came back again with the turkey, they all sat, Myka bracketed by Claudia and Pete, with Helena almost exactly opposite her.

No one in the room was particularly religious, but Claudia announced that she wanted to say grace for this meal, caveating it with a plea skyward to not be struck by lightning. The laughter that followed as Pete gestured for her to have the floor eased the tension in the room.

“Hey, God? I know I don’t really believe in you and all that, but I just wanted to say thank you. Thank you for keeping Joshua alive long enough for us to save him. Thank you for protecting us when we didn’t know we needed it. Thank you for bringing my family back together. This last year hasn’t been what it should have been, but we’re all home now, so this next one will be better. Umm, yeah, so, anyway, thanks, and who’s carving the turkey?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When dinner was done, Myka helped Leena clean up while Claudia and Pete brought her things in from the car. The conversation during dinner had been pleasant, with no mention of the previous year and the crises that they’d all faced. It was Helena’s first Thanksgiving, and she mostly just ate quietly and observed the celebration. Myka was most surprised though by Artie. After nearly six months of dealing with his animosity towards Helena the year before, to see him now actually including her in the conversation and speaking to her like a normal human being was shocking. Claudia had mentioned that he was making an effort, something about Mrs. Frederic going after him about it, and it seemed that he actually was.

Everyone appeared genuinely pleased to see her back, even Helena, who had not spoken again to her after their greeting. Claudia somewhat gleefully passed on after she excused herself from the table that the tiny smile that graced Helena’s lips the entire meal had been non-existent for the last three months. Artie waved off her one attempt to talk to him alone, saying that they would have time to get her caught up once Monday came around, unless there was an emergency over the weekend. 

She followed Pete up to her room on their last trip in, knowing that this was one conversation that would not be put off. She was not surprised to be in the same room that she was before, and it looked virtually the same as her first day, nearly three years ago. She would have to see if she could get her bookcases brought out as well, or new ones installed, as she had set aside her entire book collection to be brought out. There was nothing she could think of that would take her away from the Warehouse again, not even retirement. The one thing that she had settled on amidst all of her second and third guessing of the past two days was that Mrs. Frederic was right. This was where she belonged.

Pete set down her large duffel bag and briefcase on the floor next to her other three bags and turned to face her. One of the things that she loved about Pete was that they didn’t need to actually speak to each other to have a conversation. Two years of nearly constant dependency on each other had brought them closer together to the point where words weren’t necessary, even now. He spread his arms, and she walked to him, hugging him tightly. 

“I missed you,” she whispered as his arms closed around her. 

“Missed you too.” He rested his chin on the top of her head. “You really back?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. I need my partner.”

She nodded against his shoulder in agreement.

“Will you be ok with H.G.? She hasn’t been back out in the field, but she has done some good work with Claudia on inventory duty. Otherwise, she is pretty quiet, even more so than she was at dinner tonight. The psych guy she’s been seeing cleared her for field work last week, but she asked Mrs. Frederic if she could stay where she was.”

“We’ll be fine. I’ll figure it out.”

She tightened her arms once more and let him go. 

“She’s missed you, I think. She doesn’t mention you, or anything that may have... happened... But it isn’t hard to see that she’s lonely.”

“Thank you. For bringing my things up, I appreciate it,” she replied, uncomfortable with the things that he was saying. She wanted to hold on a little longer to the uncomplicated feelings that her return had brought up. Thoughts of Helena only served to raise the questions she wasn’t sure that she could face.

“No problem,” Pete replied easily, accepting her change of subject without question. They had an understanding, and more was said in her fond smile than would have been in words, anyway. “I’ll let you get to it, then.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

She spent some time unpacking and hanging up her clothes, but the quiet warmth of her room suffocated her, and she found herself wandering back down to the front porch, her coat pulled tight around her. She curled up on the porch swing and watched as the sun continued its path down over the horizon. The sky was full of pinks and dark purples, the last vestiges of light putting forth their best efforts, when the door opened behind her. She did not need to look to know who had joined her on the porch, though there were no footsteps approaching her. She’d known that eventually Helena would come and find her, alone, though she had not expected it to be so soon. Not after the studious way she’d avoided even looking at Myka during dinner. Myka had no plans to seek Helena out; instead, she’d planned to just let things fall as they would. They obviously were falling early.

“So you are back for good then, yes?” Helena asked after a few minutes, and Myka turned to see her leaning back against the front door, hands as ever shoved into the pockets of her trench coat and a plaid scarf wrapped around her neck.

“Yeah.” Myka let her eyes trail over Helena once, and then turned back to look out over the trees. “Will that be a… problem?”

She finally heard footsteps as Helena walked to the porch railing and looked out at the same trees. “No,” she answered finally, her voice soft.

Silence fell between them, and an awkwardness as neither woman spoke for several minutes. Myka’s eyes drifted to Helena occasionally, taking in the careful way the woman lounged against the railing, her body tense.

She was just considering going back inside, out of the cold and away from the painful quiet, when Helena started speaking, her face still placid and her gaze focused somewhere far away.

“I don’t know if what I’m about to say is inappropriate, and if it is, I apologize. It is not intended to be.”

Myka pulled herself out of her own thoughts, and sat up straighter. 

Helena still refused to look at her. “I simply wanted to say… I harbor no assumptions as to the status of our relationship. I do not know if it is something you have even considered, but I hope you know that… that… There will be no pressure, from me, to resume our lives as they once were. I am under no delusion about how damaged we are now because of my actions.”

Myka considered her words, and the way Helena seemed to be shivering slightly even in her coat and scarf, a faint trembling that belied her otherwise calm and distant air. She knew how hard this had to be for her to say, to acknowledge what they had and what they lost, and she fought the instinct to go to her. To wrap her arms around her and assure her that she had nothing to worry about, that she had done nothing wrong, that she was still loved. She wondered why it had never occurred to her just what her return to the Warehouse would do to Helena. The woman had moved as a ghost for the last three months, existing and doing as she was told, but at least she wasn’t faced day to day with the strongest reminder of what she had done. 

“I do hope that someday we can return to the friendship we had at the start,” Helena continued, knocking Myka out of her thoughts. She wondered just how much she had missed. “I know it won’t be immediate, and for all I know you do not even desire it so it may never happen, but I hope you will forgive me that one small... wish.”

Myka pushed up from the swing and winced at the way the chain squeaked as it swayed from side to side. She joined Helena at the railing, wrapping her fingers around the wood as she contemplated her response. 

“I think we can do that,” she said finally. “I would like that.” 

With those words, she walked away. There was a moment’s pause at the door as she opened, it, and from behind her she heard, so faintly she would have missed it if her clothes had rustled, “I am sorry.”

She didn’t turn back, but as her foot crossed the threshold, she replied just as softly, “I know.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

**December**

The next month went by fast, and Myka barely had an opportunity to breathe, much less settle back in. Of the first twenty days, she and Pete were out on artifact searches for nineteen, three of them out of the country. Somehow, she’d forgotten about the jetlag. Artie, Claudia and Helena all stayed behind during their missions and Claudia sometimes texted her to complain about Artie’s decorating failures when it came to preparing for Christmas. The whole Jewish thing didn’t matter, Claudia managed to whine via her last text message, because he didn’t even want to do anything for Chanukah. The weekend they were in a small mining town in Kentucky, she practically begged Myka to bring back several large lumps of coal.

The night before Christmas Eve, Myka retreated late to the living room, a half full glass of wine in one hand as she curled up and watched the lights on the tree twinkle. The rest of them had long since retired upstairs. Even though they had the next five days off, she and Pete had only just returned from a harrowing artifact retrieval, complete with a near fight to the death with the bad guy, who really was just an accountant under the power of Wild Bill Hickok’s whip. Pete got hit in the head and had his shoulder wrenched nearly out of its socket, and made very clear when they got home that he would not be leaving his room until Christmas morning, and if they wanted to see him, they had to come to him. He wasn’t planning on getting out of bed.

Claudia came in periodically with armfuls of wrapped presents, each time eyeing Myka suspiciously and threatening dire coffee replacements with decaf if there was any peeking. The girl had gone a little crazy on the internet shopping this year, but unfortunately for her had not chosen to have any of the gifts arrive already wrapped. To make matters worse, she waited until the last minute to start wrapping them. She was lucky that everyone there found her mostly adorable, or else her griping at dinner would have been annoying. Leena also disappeared, leaving Myka alone in the room, minus Claudia’s random in and outs, which barely counted because they didn’t last more than a moment or two at a time.

It was after eleven, and Myka was still sitting there, absorbed in her thoughts as she watched the lights reflect off the antique and glass ornaments. Leena had decorated the tree during one of their missions, although the vaguely Victorian theme made Myka wonder if Helena had assisted. The woman herself had stayed on the outer edges of things whenever she and Pete were home, but Myka supposed if anyone would be able to draw Helena out of the shell she’d created for herself in the last several months, it would be Leena. Claudia was far too energetic to pull it off, and Artie, though much of his antagonistic attitude toward Helena was gone, wasn’t known for his subtle social skills. 

It took a while for the feeling of being watched to settle over her, and when it finally did, all Myka did was turn her head slightly to look at the reflection in the window. Her eyes locked on Helena’s for a moment, and then she turned her attention to the tree again. She drank the last of her wine, and set the glass aside. 

“May I join you?”

“Sure.” Myka moved her feet and watched Helena carefully take a seat on the next couch cushion over. “You’re up late.”

“I do not sleep much.” Helena stayed on the edge of her seat, and Myka could clearly see the tension in her. “Not recently, anyway.” 

Myka nodded and looked away. There was not much she could say in response to that. 

After a few minutes of tense silence, she heard a soft rustling as Helena picked up something from beside her that Myka hadn’t noticed her carry in. Focusing once more on the other woman, Myka’s eyebrows lifted at the sight of a delicately wrapped gift held in Helena’s hands, her thumb rubbing against a neatly tied silk ribbon. Before she could question it, Helena handed it to her.

“I don’t know the protocol for the giving of a gift that already belongs to the recipient, especially if the person giving the gift acquired it illegally. However, this is yours, and I hope it is acceptable to return it now.” Helena looked at her for the first time as she handed her the gift. Her eyes were hooded, and her expression guarded. 

Myka took it, recognizing from the weight of it that it was a book. She couldn’t imagine one that Helena would have taken, or from where. “Thank you?” she replied cautiously, tugging lightly at the ribbon. “Can I open it now?”

Helena looked panicked at Myka’s actions. “If you like,” she replied, pulling away. “I will leave you to it.”

When she stood up, Myka lunged forward and grabbed for her hand. It was the first time they had touched since Baltimore, and it was as though an electric current ran through her body as skin met skin. “You do not have to go. It’s peaceful, sitting here. It may help you sleep.” She curled her fingers around Helena’s wrist once, and let go.

A hint of a smile crossed Helena’s lips and some of the tension left her eyes, though she took another step away. “Thank you, but I will go. It is best that you open that alone,” she said, gesturing towards the gift. “And if you choose to wait, I have intruded upon you enough.”

Myka watched her leave, a troubled expression on her face. After the footsteps faded up the stairs and a door shut, she returned her attention to the present in her hands, turning it over once. There was no tag on it, just the elegant paper and ribbon, and she gave into her curiosity. She tugged on the end of the ribbon until it came loose, falling softly away. Just as she was sliding her finger along the edge of the paper to peel away the tape, thunder sounded from upstairs, and Claudia raced once more into the room. Myka didn’t have time to hide Helena’s gift, and it took several very long minutes to convince the young woman that she had not peeked at her presents under the tree and make her escape up to her room.

Once there, she locked her door to ensure that Claudia at least had to work for it if she decided to chase after her. She refused to acknowledge that she also wanted to keep Helena at a distance still, though the woman had shown no signs in the preceding month of wanting to be anything more than on the outskirts of their little world. Myka had not encouraged any change in that behavior, either, for all their assertions on Thanksgiving of returning to their previous, cordial friendship. There was just too much between them, too much that, though Myka knew intellectually was not Helena’s fault, she could not easily forgive. Could not easily forget the pain that she’d lived with for over half a year. 

It was worse because she _knew_ that Helena was feeling the same exact thing. They really were so similar. Brilliant, hardworking, and prone to self-punishment to make up for their sins. Really, they were perfect for each other. If only... She shook her head. It didn’t matter. There was no way in hell that anything would ever happen between them again. Even if they lived to old age hunting for artifacts in the Warehouse.

She folded the ribbon neatly and set it on her nightstand. Her eyes widened once she’d delicately unwrapped the book. It was _When the Sleeper Wakes_. Her copy of it. How the hell had Helena gotten her hands on it? She no idea it was even missing. She turned it upside down and let the pages fall open; several slips of paper fell out onto her lap. She set the book aside and picked them up: they were the notes that Helena had left her over her months at the Warehouse, written on post-it notes like the first one she had left behind on the grappler. Myka had pressed them between the pages of the book every time she came across one. 

She looked through them again, counting in her head as she went. There was one more than she remembered storing in the book, and it took one more shuffle through them to find it. _A pair of star-crossed lovers._ Since when did H.G. Wells channel William Shakespeare? She hated Shakespeare. Myka remembered vividly the evening Claudia decided to watch _Hamlet_ instead of read it for her first university class. She didn’t get more than five minutes into the movie before Helena came in, recognized the dialogue, and was set off onto an hour long lecture on how Shakespeare was a hack writer and how awful she found it that students were being tortured with his writings still.

It had been hilarious, not that it helped Claudia with her schoolwork, but Myka had definitely come away from that evening with the understanding that Helena hated Shakespeare. It made no sense for her to then be leaving one of his verses in her book, even one talking about love. She shrugged, and spent the next several minutes carefully replacing each note, saving the newest one for last. She turned to the title page, intending to leave it there, and dropped the book on the floor. Wincing, she picked it up again and stared. There, below the title, was beautifully written calligraphy, not as easily removed from the book as the other messages.

_Myka,_  
You are the most extraordinary woman I have ever known.  
Yours,  
Helena 

There was no date to show how long ago that message had been written, and she supposed that that was why Helena had not wanted to be there when she found it. Now what was she supposed to do with it?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Christmas morning was surprisingly fun. Claudia woke the house up at five AM, bouncing into everyone’s rooms and jumping on the beds. Even Helena, who was barely asleep anyway. She allowed herself to be dragged down the stairs and deposited on the couch with a cup of hot chocolate. The others joined them soon after, all bleary eyed and bed headed, clomping down the stairs into the living room. Even Artie was there. Helena couldn’t remember ever seeing him spend the night at Leena’s, though he had a room there the same as everyone else.

Pete stoked the fire and sat down beside it, his blanket still wrapped around his shoulders. Myka sat on the other end of the couch from where Helena had curled up, and Leena carried out a tray with more hot chocolate and cookies. Pete took possession of the cookies with a mumbled “sweeeet.”

Claudia took charge of the Santa duties, as she called it, and passed out the ridiculous red and white hats Helena had seen on television for much of the last month. She refused to do anything else until they all, even Artie, put one on. Gamely, Helena gave in, though she felt like an idiot. They never would have had a place in the Christmases she spent with her family and Christina, and she missed the way they would spend their holiday at the farm in Kent. The focus was on their family. They would exchange gifts, oh yes, especially for the children, but it was truly on opportunity to bring her scattered family together once a year. There was none of the embarrassing display of greed she’d been a witness to in the newspapers since her return to the Warehouse. 

For all the early hour and the reservations Helena had, it turned out to be quite fun. It was more entertaining for her to watch everyone else open their gifts than anything else. She had presents too, which surprised her most of all, one from each of them, much as she had purchased something for them in return. Even Myka, to whom she gave a first edition of _The Magic Mountain_ in the original German, stemming from one of their long ago conversations. She’d never heard of him, but she read it after she bought it, and decided Myka was right to love it as much as she did.

Claudia’s gift to her was the box set of _The X-Files_. Helena suspected that this was in actuality a gift for Claudia, as the gift was accompanied with a vow to not watch it unless Claudia was there to enjoy it with her. Myka gave her a lovely scarf and gloves set, terribly impersonal, but she did not expect more than that. Myka hadn’t said anything to her in the last two days about the book she’d given back to her. Helena hadn’t expected her to, either, but she’d hoped for... Something that was impossible. She surreptitiously looked around the room, verifying that the wishing kettle had not found its way to Leena’s. She had no desire for a ferret, no matter how amusing Myka’s was.

Laughter drew her attention back to the group around her. Pete was throwing a wadded up bit of wrapping paper at Myka as Claudia was trying to shove a knitted blue and orange hat on his head. Helena thought she could make out a white horse on it, as Pete tried to evade her. 

“Do you have any idea how much shit I would get at home for this?” Pete asked, laughing. “You know I’m a Browns fan!”

“Well you should expand your horizons to a team that actually wins once in a while,” Myka retorted, throwing the paper back at him. 

Helena chuckled under her breath. The normalcy she remembered was slowly making its way back into the house. 

Even Artie was finally getting into the spirit of the season, after Claudia dumped a pile of presents in front of him. “Since you refused to celebrate Chanukah, you get your eight days of presents today. Enjoy it, don’t complain, or I swear I will bedazzle your Farnsworth.”

Eventually all that was left was shredded paper and discarded ribbon. Leena tried to gather up the remnants to throw out, but Pete pulled her away from them and told her that her Christmas gift from him was a morning of not having to clean up after them. Everyone rolled their eyes at that, but she settled back down to listen to Claudia argue with Artie that he did indeed need that gift card to Men’s Wearhouse. Helena quietly excused herself, collecting up her empty mug and holding out her hand cautiously for Myka’s. Myka looked at her for a second, and then handed it to her with a small smile on her lips. Helena returned the smile and ducked her head.

It was quiet in the kitchen while she set the kettle on the stove to boil. A peek into the refrigerator gave her an apple to eat while she waited. She felt better for something in her stomach. The image of Myka’s smile pushed to the front of her mind, and she had something to ponder. It was the first truly happy smile the woman had given her since they were in Warehouse 2. She clung to that thought as she carefully mixed two more mugs of hot chocolate and carried them back into the living room. 

Myka murmured her thanks with another smile, most of her attention now on one of the books Pete had given her. It was amusing, though not entirely surprising, that most of the gifts Myka received from all of them were books. She was clearly not complaining over it, either. Helena set aside her own hot chocolate and shoved her hands in the pockets of her dressing gown. She pulled her left hand out again, and ran her thumb over the front of her locket. Glancing around to ensure that no one was watching her, she flicked it open, and focused on her daughter. 

Christina would have enjoyed this celebration, she decided. She’d always enjoyed helping her grandmother decorate their tree with ribbon and the glass ornaments Helena had brought her mother back from several trips to Germany in the 1880’s. It had been an important moment for Christina when, at eight years old, her grandmother deemed her responsible enough to hang the glass ornaments, and not once did she drop one. Her cousins had watched her, envious, and Christina had reveled in the attention and the honor of it. 

She brushed the fingers of her other hand against her lips and pressed them to Christina’s face. “Happy Christmas, my love,” she whispered.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Lunch was late that day, as Pete took it upon himself to make them all a Christmas breakfast. It took longer than Leena had planned on, given the mess left behind, and so lunch became dinner. She banished everyone from the kitchen. Pete retreated with Claudia to play on his Wii, Artie headed back to the Warehouse, and Helena just disappeared. Myka was at a loss over what to do. When she was younger and went home over the holidays, she would always be helping her mom cook, but that wasn’t an option here.

Myka took a quick shower, and dressed warmly in the new sweater her mom sent her for Christmas. She wanted to curl up in her window seat and read against the backdrop of falling snow, but there was something nagging at her. Something sitting in her dresser drawer. She’d been debating for the last two weeks over it, her mind made up one minute, and gone the next. It was going to be awkward, not unlike the events of two days ago, but worse. Things, feelings, could be assumed, and she wasn’t ready for that. Wasn’t ready to admit to _herself_.

She tried to ignore it, and settled down with her book, but it kept after her like the beating of the Tell-Tale Heart. Unable to stand it any longer, she tossed the book onto her bed, rifled through the dresser, and left her room. She knocked on Helena’s door, but there was no response. The other woman was not in with Pete and Claudia as they duked it out, nor was she in the kitchen or the living room. A chanced glance outside as she passed the dining room offered a brief glimpse of blue against the snow outside. Steeling herself to do this, because it would continue to eat at her if she didn’t, she grabbed her coat and gloves from the hall closet and went outside, stuffing the wrapped box into her pocket as best she could.

She found Helena hidden next to the brickwork of the chimney, arms wrapped around herself and her hands tucked inside the sleeves of her wool coat. There were snowflakes dusting her hair from the light snowfall that had started during breakfast, giving her the appearance of an angelic statue she was so still. Her eyes were closed, and she gave no indication that she knew Myka had stopped only a few feet from her. 

If there was one thing Myka had loved to do when Helena was around, it was watch her. There had never been a more beautiful woman in the world, in her eyes. From her expressive eyes to her glowing skin to the way her hair had felt as it moved over Myka’s skin. Early mornings were the best time, but she had to admit, right now was just as good. 

“Aren’t you cold?” she asked.

Helena blinked a few times and turned her head towards her. “Not particularly.” She reached up and fingered the new scarf around her neck. “I am sufficiently protected, I believe.”

“What are you doing out here?”

“Isn’t it obvious? It’s...” She tilted her head up towards the second floor window, where there came a loud cheer. “It’s peaceful.”

Myka laughed, and dug her foot into the snow. “Thank you for the book,” she offered. 

“I am glad you liked it,” Helena replied, repeating the short conversation they’d had earlier that morning. “Are you out here avoiding the noise as well, or simply out for a walk?”

Myka moved a step closer, so she didn’t feel like she was shouting across the distance between them. “I had something else for you. For Christmas.” She pulled the small wrapped box out of her pocket and held it out to the other woman. “I didn’t know how to give it to you in front of everyone.”

Helena pulled off one of her gloves and gingerly took the gift from her hand. Myka shoved her hands back in her pockets and fought the urge to flee. Helena removed the wrapping paper, dropping it carelessly onto the snow, and opened the box. She looked inside, dumbfounded, and then met Myka’s gaze with widened eyes.

“I noticed that you haven’t worn your locket around your neck,” Myka rushed to explain. “I don’t know if that was by choice, or if you simply didn’t have another necklace to put it on, or whatever, but I wanted you to at least have the option. I didn’t want you to accidentally lose Christina’s image.”

“I would die before I lost it,” Helena replied, seemingly unaware of the way Myka flinched at her words. 

“I neutralized it, just to make sure it was ok,” Myka continued with false cheerfulness. “It’s just a necklace, no special powers. Anyway, Merry Christmas.” She turned and walked away, wanting to kick herself for her foolishness. Helena’s murmured thanks were lost to the snowflakes as she left her behind.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Myka didn’t know how to describe how she felt three days later, when by chance Helena’s collared shirt slipped open enough that she caught a glimpse of the delicate gold chain that had been her gift. She’d consciously avoided Helena’s presence as much as she could as the holiday wound down, and in that way, nothing had changed. How was she supposed to move on, maybe even move forward, when the image of Helena in her arms warred with the Helena who’d nearly pulled the trigger of a gun pressed against Myka’s head? Intellectually she knew that Helena was Helena once more, no longer in the grips of Brutus’ necklace. The unemotional part of her even believed it. But her heart.... Her heart was afraid to trust. Again.

But for all that, she was glad, for herself and for Helena, to see her wearing her locket once more.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

**January**

January passed by slowly. Most days were spent on inventory at the Warehouse, as the winter storms blocked them in Univille for several weeks. If there had been anything terribly important, which Artie defined as ‘catastrophic, leading to the end of human existence as we know it,’ they would have found a way out. But Artie simply added artifacts to be found to his list, promising a busy return to the world once the snows started to clear. They spent Groundhog Day in Istanbul tracking down Diogene’s Lamp, and barely had a chance to sit down to dinner at Leena’s after before they were packed off to San Diego to find a marble that caused people to throw rocks through windows.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

**February**

Claudia kept one eye on the Farnsworth, where she was talking to Pete and Myka about their return flight from San Diego, and the other on Helena, seated a few feet away updating an old inventory sheet by hand. At least, that was what she was supposed to be doing, but ever since the Farnsworth had sounded a few minutes before, there had been nary a chicken scratch. She confirmed that they would be home once more in about seven hours, six and a half if Pete was driving, and closed the device. The scratching of the pen could be heard once more.

This was driving her crazy. Myka had been home for three months, and in many ways no one could tell the difference between who she was now, and who she had been before HG’s arrival. She was cheerful, hard-working, somewhat tolerant of Pete’s antics... But there was a tension about her, at all times. It was worse when Helena was nearby, like gravity was trying to pull her into the other woman’s orbit and she was doing everything possible to fight it and propel herself away. She had caught them both on numerous occasions watching the other, only to turn away at any sign that they had been caught.

It was so obvious that they still loved each other, still craved each other like a drowning man needed air. It was silly that they refused to do more than stare pathetically at each other when there was nothing standing in their way but themselves. Sometimes she wanted to just grab the two of them and... and... do _something_ , anything to end this. She ought to search the artifact index, maybe there was something non-dangerous that would help. She was ready to try anything. Now was no better or worse a time than any other. 

“You know, that Chinese place on Main Street will still be open when they get back tonight,” she said, feigning casualness as she called up a search on the computer.

“That food will not be considered Chinese after you spend time in Shanghai, Claudia. Once you have tasted luo bo si bing from a hidden corner of the fish market, you will never again consider that... to be Chinese food.” Helena didn’t turn away from her list, though Claudia could hear the trace of humor in her voice.

“Well... maybe you’re right, but that doesn’t change the fact that Myka likes it.”

Claudia watched carefully, and was rewarded by Helena freezing in her seat. Result!

“I do not see why Agent Bering’s culinary preferences should affect me, Claudia. If you are so concerned, however, you are free to ensure that she has a suitable amount of lo mein awaiting her return.”

Claudia pursed her lips and mimed throwing her pencil at Helena’s head. “God, you guys are pathetic,” she grumbled, turning back to her own work.

“I do beg your pardon,” she heard from behind her, disgruntlement evident in Helena’s voice. 

“You are!” Claudia gave up, and gave in. “You love her, she loves you, you are both _here_ and you refuse to do anything about it! It was cute at first, the way you guys watch each other when you think no one else is looking, but now? Now it’s just pathetic. Of all of us, you two have a chance at happiness! Me? My guy is off hiding from the mob, Artie is mooning over Dr. Vanessa from a distance and Pete... well... Pete is Pete. You have each other, here, and neither one of you will do anything about it. So yes, you are pathetic, and I give up.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Indeed, after her conversation with Helena, Claudia longer continued with her unsubtle attempts to convince Myka and Helena to reconnect. She simply joined the rest of the household in watching them dance uncomfortably around each other.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

**May**

Myka was exhausted, but when Pete asked her to drop him off at Leena’s before taking the small bust of Andrew Carnegie to the Warehouse, she acquiesced without complaint. It wouldn’t take too long to add it to the inventory and store it on a shelf somewhere; she figured she would be home, curled up in her own bed for a nap within an hour. Hour and a half, tops. Done with her task, she wearily returned to Artie’s office to grab her coat, and paused in the doorway. She wasn’t alone. 

Helena perched on the edge of Artie’s desk, and was looking down at her hands. It was not often that they found themselves alone in the same room, Myka could only think of maybe a handful of times since their forced winter isolation had ended in March, all of them awkward.

“Hi,” she said with forced casualness.

Helena looked up at her, and Myka was curious to see the small smile that crossed her lips before Helena spoke. “Welcome home.”

“Thanks,” she said after a moment, leaning against the doorframe. She glanced around, reconfirming that no one else was there, nor was anything else which might have explained Helena’s presence. 

“Leena is making chicken paprikash for dinner tonight.”

Ok... “That sounds good,” Myka replied, when Helena said nothing further.

“I thought perhaps you might prefer Italian to Hungarian, after your trip.”

“Oh.” That was... odd, Myka thought, before realization dawned on her. “Oh...” she repeated. 

The room was silent for a long, uncomfortable moment, while Helena grasped at the desk edge and Myka looked everywhere but at her. She had no idea how to react to this overture.

“I’m sorry, you must be tired. Perhaps another time.”

Myka watched, baffled, as Helena slid off the desk and headed for the door. She hadn’t thought Helena was serious but... there was no mistaking the disappointed look that the other woman couldn’t quite mask. 

“Wait, Helena!” she called after her, taking a few steps into the room. Helena paused, one hand gripping the open door, but she did not turn back. “Italian sounds... great.” She carefully picked up her coat from the back of a chair. 

Helena watched her, and when Myka stopped a few feet from her, there was an odd look in her eyes. To Myka, it felt like Helena was searching her face for some answer or something, but whatever it was, after a moment, a small smile appeared. Helena stepped back and held the door open wider for Myka to pass through in front of her. Myka reached up and twirled her hair as she brushed against Helena’s arm. 

A glance behind her as they walked out of the Warehouse revealed Helena, a beautiful if shy smile on her face. They met again at the driver’s side of the car, when Myka turned to look for Helena and found her inches behind her, holding open the car door. “Thank you,” she murmured.

Helena joined her a moment later, and then they were off towards Univille and its small selection of restaurants. Perhaps, Myka considered as she eyed Helena out of the corner of her eye, perhaps they really could work things out. Perhaps hope had finally found her way back to the Warehouse.

The beginnings of it, at least.

**_The End_ **


End file.
